


South of Heaven

by lets_get_messi



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Closeted Character, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Lapdance, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 91,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lets_get_messi/pseuds/lets_get_messi
Summary: "You know they say, no one south of heaven is gonna treat you finer."A story following the lives and loves of several characters in England and yet the heart of each other's story remains the same: South of Heaven is one of London's little secrets, a decadent strip club with the best performers the city has to offer.





	1. Jordan

 

London was a surprising city. She was alive at all hours, bright and fierce with her chaotic energy as she thrived day in day out and through the nights that darkened her. But London had her secrets, back alleys falling into shadow, whispers caught on the evening breeze. She had an underbelly rife with debauchery and the unknowing and Jordan supposed it was just something he’d come to expect from the city that still had the ability to constantly surprise him. And he could pin-point the surprise coming to him on a mild Tuesday afternoon, at the start of what began as a particularly uneventful week.

He sat in the pub, thumbing through news feeds and notifications, his pint sitting untouched beside him as he lost himself in another daze. Candy crush invite here, Instagram mention there. He wasn’t exactly a lonely man, he had friends, he had family and never once felt unsupported and yet there was a gaping hole that felt inconsistent with the progress of his life so far. He sighed, locking his phone and reaching for his pint, savouring the bitter taste and smacking his lips together as he looked to his surroundings.

His local was always quiet in the afternoon, the regulars sat like props against the bar, two barmaids speaking in hushed voices about the lull of the early shift as Sky Sports News sounded out from the TVs on the walls, ghosts of their usual buzz whenever an important game was on. But now it was just mid-summer reports on nothing that caught Jordan’s attention.

He had built a life for himself in London and was continuing content enough. Having moved down from Sunderland after securing a place in his first-choice university in the city and he hadn’t looked back since.

That was seven years ago.

Milner entered the pub then, breaking him from his thoughts as he unzipped his jacket and looked around until he found Jordan beside the window. Henderson rose to greet his friend, shaking his hand with a warm smile and gesturing to the pint he’d bought for James alongside his own.

“Ah cheers mate.” James said, sighing as he took a seat opposite Jordan. “How’s it going? Work all right?” He began, cheeks flushed with the summer heat that was starting to catch up with the season in the streets outside.

“Work’s work, can’t really say life guarding in a dingy leisure centre is high pressure stuff.” Jordan laughed. It’s not that he hated his job, in fact it’s exactly what he wanted to do as a kid, but he supposed that was the half of it. There was a peculiarity to having had done everything he intended to do by the age of 28. He had his own place, owned his own car, had a job he enjoyed but he felt a lifetime ahead of him of just going along. His life in the driving seat and him simply a submissive passenger, observing and rarely interfering with the plan. He felt backed into a corner by his own achievements. A sob story he felt too self-conscious to admit, especially to the likes of James Milner who was 100% the attender of no-one’s pity party and never had been.

“Nothin’ like Baywatch then?” James mocked.

“I’ve been lied to again!”

“I’ve started a new job, me.” James said triumphantly, hands slapping the table with opened palms and a beaming grin.

“Mate that’s wicked! What you doin’ now?” Jordan asked conversationally, vaguely aware that James would probably have another job in a few months’ time. He seemed in all accounts to be the exact opposite of his best friend. James was always restless where Jordan was passive, he was riled up where Jordan was calm and James’ discontent with the mundane was another one of those things that had Jordan wondering how the hell they met in the middle in the first place.

“Bartending work as usual, except this job pays well above the wages I was getting at the Spoons!”

“Is it? What’s so different about this then? You gotta pour pints from a lion’s mouth? Jump through flaming hoops to take people’s breakfast orders?” Jordan teased, swirling his drink around in his glass as James tutted him.

“Dickhead, nah it’s… well you’d have to see it for yourself. I really won’t do it justice otherwise, I reckon you’d like it you know!” There was a hint of amusement in James’ tone that Jordan had long since associated with him when he was being a complete arse.

“Christ, now I’m concerned.” Jordan said with a raised eyebrow, James pointing at him with one of the fingers wrapped around his pint.

“Nah mate trust me, it’s right up your street!” That shit-eating grin again and Jordan rolled his eyes, reaching for his phone.

“What’s the place called? I’ll google map it now and I can meet ya there tomorrow if you’re so hell bent on being cryptic.” He loaded up the app, James relaxing back in his seat with a shrug.

“Sounds good to me. It’s called _South of Heaven_. Doesn’t really have much of an online presence, mind.”

“Mate, sounds like a fuckin’ strip club, that.” Jordan mocked, shaking his head and raising his glass to his lips once more just to see James’ smile breaking his face in two. Jordan couldn’t help but gape a little, phone screen turning black in his attention’s absence. “Give over, you’re not pouring pints in a fuckin’ tit bar are ya?”

“Nah mate, people don’t drink pints there. It’s the real deal. I’m doing James Bond martini’s and shit on the rocks. It’s crazy fuckin formal as fuck in there. Some of the customers are rich beyond our wildest dreams. I’m talkin’ tabs reaching into the thousands in a day.” James was leaning over the table now, tapping at the beer mat in front of him and all Jordan could do was stare at him in vague disbelief. He wouldn’t put it past James to just be saying this as part of a wind up.

“In a strip club? Jesus, what’s your missus’ said?”

“Funnily enough, she doesn’t have a problem with it. I start work at 4pm, swing by after your shift finishes.” James said, drinking his pint down to the dregs as Jordan tried to wrap his head around the fact that he lived in a world where Mrs Milner had no issues with her husband staring at naked women all day every day.

“4pm? Jesus, who in their right mind is getting a chlamydia riddled lap dance before tea time?”

“You’ll understand when you get there.” James said through a cackle, his phone vibrating and urging him to rise to his feet. Short and sweet really was the Milner way. “Right that’s Sarah, tellin’ me she’s cookin’ me dinner. Listen when you get to the club tomorrow say to security that Milner has put you on the guest-list. They should let you in for free. Any trouble give us a bell.” He winked then, zipping up his jacket as Jordan sat back in his seat with a smirk.

“Fuckin’ hell. Didn’t know your club was at Guantanamo. Am I gonna get frisked on entry?”

“We take care of our workers, we take care of our clients even better.” That fucking wink again and Jordan felt his eyes roll a full 360 despite the laugh that escaped him.

“Fuckin hell alright. I’ll see you there.”

*

It was safe to say that James wasn’t joking when he said that South of Heaven had minimal online presence. Jordan lay in bed, freshly showered with his alarm set for his morning shift and decided to give the club a little Google.

They had a website, but it gave precisely nothing away. It was just a black page, the logo to the bar fading into view with the words ‘ _member’s only Gentlemen’s club_ ’ written beneath it. Other than that, the only other page was a map location and a phone number.

He was familiar with where about it was, it was just two tube stops from the underground by his work, so it wouldn’t take him too long to get there, he could easily head in for about 6, giving James enough time to get into the swing of his shift.

Jordan lay there, wondering why James was so hell bent on drilling the point home that the strip club would be right up Jordan’s street despite Jordan telling him exactly 0% of his sex life. They just had that kind of friendship and he thought up until that moment they were both content with letting it be that way.

The thought plagued Jordan throughout his morning routine the next day, through his work commute, shift and then right up until he was dressed and walking from the tube station and in the direction that his phone was providing him with.

When he got to the street however, he had to double-check he didn’t miss a turn off about twice. Jordan stared down the alleyway, convinced James was pulling his leg despite his phone telling him that this was in fact the right way. It looked the same as any other alley in the inner city, graffitied walls looming over rain-soaked wheelie bins, litter blowing like ghosts of the past over the shimmering pavement and all Jordan could do was sigh and walk through it, maybe it was just a short cut. It wasn’t until he got further between the two buildings that he noticed the faint hum of music and then he saw a stairway leading to one of the building’s basements.

This definitely didn’t exude the luxury and decadence that James had waxed lyrical about and Jordan pulled his phone from his pocket again, swiping through the messages from his mate and double checking his placement on the map.

5 yards away.

At the bottom of the stairs stood two burly looking security guards and Jordan really was beginning to question if Milner had in fact been keeping his sense of humour under wraps over the years and this was all just a huge well executed prank. Either way, Milner didn’t have any reason to lie surely, so that’s how Henderson found himself going down the stone steps and standing before the two men who considered him for a few moments.

“Alright guys, I’m a mate of Milner’s been told I’m on the guest-list?” He said it like a question and watched as the two men exchanged glances, before the one pulled up a small note tablet, scrolling through with a stylus before nodding. Jordan smiled back awkwardly, lips in a tight line as the other security guard stared at him with a deadpan expression.

“Yeah. He has a guest down for tonight. I’m going to need to see ID, and I’m gonna have to run through some rules before entering the premise if that’s alright.” The larger of the two said.

“No worries, man.”

“No taking photographs of the performers or the building itself, this includes selfies. No check-ins on social media. No touching the performers until a transaction has been completed. There are several security guards and cameras put in place and all our performers have a panic alarm that alerts the nearest security guard if any of these rules are breached. It will not only result in a life-time ban but also a possible court appearance.” The one guard droned on, like he was reading out a script, the other running his hands of Jordan and requesting to check his pockets.

It seemed the real deal, Jordan wondering that perhaps James hadn’t been bullshitting when he said they took care of their workers, if the rule-book was anything to go by. When he seemed to check out with the guards they opened the door, letting him through with an awkward wave on Jordan’s part.

He entered into a dimly lit hallway, a small cloakroom at the side of him that he passed to head straight through the large doors ahead. The music got louder as he approached, finally hitting him fully as he walked into the club.

The room was open plan and must have spanned the underground of at least two of the commercial buildings overhead. It was quite impressive really. The interior screamed the money that Milner promised, sleek and stylish and dare Jordan think, not even the slightest bit sleazy. Not a single bit of leopard print in sight, just smart monochrome colour schemes and reflective surfaces that really set the dim lights overhead glinting. There were several stages around the room, all accompanied by their own sets of grey crushed velvet armchairs that probably cost Jordan’s entire monthly bills just for one. The largest of the stages took up the length of one of the walls, housing three poles as oppose to the smaller stages set up, of just the one.

There were a few men milling around, sat at the bar on the stools and talking among themselves with the music overhead blaring out a song that fitted the mood. Jordan immediately felt out of his depth, but he approached the bar towards the back of the room, taking up the vast majority of the side and he imagined it would be a nightmare once peak hours hit. But for now, there were only 3 men behind the bar, one severing and the other two cleaning. James sadly did not appear to be there, perhaps out back somewhere and Jordan instantly felt a rush of discomfort at that prospect.

But he took a seat on one of the stools anyway, reaching for a beer-mat just to occupy his hands as he jittered one knee, eyes scanning the room in hoping to seek out that familiar face.

“First time here?” Jordan blinked out of his reverie and his gaze fell onto a tall blonde man behind the bar, cloth slung over his shoulder. He was smartly dressed just like everyone else in the club. He had a fitted shirt and trousers combo, a smart black waistcoat with silver lining buttoned up on his slim frame and Jordan assumed that was the uniform of the workers there.

“That obvious, is it?” Jordan called out above the music, the barman just laughing and reaching for a glass. Jordan got distracted by another section of the club where men had started to fill up the seats that were laid out in a semi-circle around the smallest lit-up stage and pole.

“He’s one of our best on now, early hours he takes the smaller stage but it’s rare to get this close.” The barman shouted, and Jordan looked back to see a glass set on napkin, the amber liquid shimmering within the crushed ice and little black cocktail umbrella with the club’s logo on, presented to him. “Go check him out. Just get a feel of the place, plenty of dancers to see as the night goes on. Plenty of men to choose from.” It hit Jordan then, what the barman had said.

Him. Plenty of men to choose from.

“I’m here to see my mate actually, started working behind the bar a few weeks ago.” He hated how it sounded like justification, like he was trying to bypass the idea that he could in fact enjoy it here despite the fact his stomach was kind of rolling around and he couldn’t pin point why. He really was just here to see a friend.

“Ah James!” The barman smiled, and Jordan nodded at that being the usual reaction upon people meeting the man. “What a guy! Yeah, he’s a great laugh. I enjoy working with him so far!”

Suddenly it all made sense, the way James laughed off the clichés Jordan was reeling off about the strip clubs he’d grown familiar with, why Mrs Milner didn’t mind her husband’s job change. He couldn’t help but bristle at how James had said it was his type of place. It had never been the type of thing they’d spoken about, never particularly been something Jordan enjoyed thinking about. It was just a topic he tried to avoid as best as possible to save himself from a lot of needless questions and queries. It was just easier to ignore he supposed.

“What’s this?” Jordan asked, reaching for the drink and giving it a tentative sniff.

“My specialty, and it’s on the house.” He said with a smile and Jordan raised his glass at him. “If you need anything else and James ain’t about just ask for me. Harry.” He offered his hand over the bar and Jordan took it, grimacing at it being slightly sticky from no doubt hours of cocktail mixing.

“Jordan.”

“Enjoy the show Jordan. You’re in for a treat.” He said with a wink and then he was off to serve a rotund man on the opposite end of the bar, leaving Jordan staring at the little umbrella in his drink. He was focusing on the pounding bass of the song, wondering if James would be mad or not if he just disappeared home.

He rose from his seat, taking his drink with him and opting for the idea of searching the place for James because really, he couldn’t just bolt especially after the security and Harry had seen him.

The lights went out then and the men sat in the plush armchairs around the small stage began to applaud, Jordan falling into one of the seats himself near the end of the row. Music sounded up from the speakers above the pole, and Jordan started gripping his drink a little tighter, wishing it was somehow stronger than it already was. He didn’t know why his heart was slowing, why sweat was prickling on his forehead even as the air-con above set the room in a cooling temperature but whatever it was he felt his body tremble as a shadowed figure emerged from the back of the stage.

He couldn’t see what they looked like, all he could see was a smooth muscular frame encased in tight fitting lingerie and then the person turned, and Jordan supposed that modelling hadn’t worked out for the guy because there’s no way he’d look out of place in an Armani spread. Instead though he was sauntering up to a stripper pole, sporting the tightest leather briefs Jordan had ever seen and the highest heels to match. It took about 5 seconds for the first wad of cash to be thrown at the guy and from then it didn’t stop coming and Jordan couldn’t really take his eyes off the dancing figure.

There was a grace to erotic dancing, he’d always thought it even with women on his jaunts to strip clubs during his university years, but this was different. Men were all sharp angular lines, where women were soft and curvaceous. Men were abrupt and knowing, where Women seemed flirty and coy. It shouldn’t have been as intoxicating as it was to watch a man moving with lithe ease and yet this dancer looked like he was born to be under that exact spot light.

“His name’s Alisson.”  A voice interrupted Jordan who dragged his eyes from the thrusting frame on the stage to a man now seated beside him. He must have taken a seat once the show had started because he definitely wasn’t aware of another presence until then.

Jordan swallowed with a nod, the smaller man to his side seemed out of place from those around, he had a casual aura about him that the other club goers didn’t have. He was reclined and seemingly unimpressed as the others were sat up and flushed with a knowing arousal. But this guy was sat in tight blue jeans, ripped at the knees, a long sleeved white t-shirt falling over his hands a little which sat steepled in front of his chest, his elbows on the arm rests of the seat making his small frame look even smaller somehow. His foot was tapping in time with the song, head nodding along like he was sat at the cinema with a mate rather than being sat with a stranger in a sleazy underground club in some London alleyway.

“He’s the best here.” The guy continued, eyes still on Alisson even though Henderson was now looking to him. He had longish hair, pushed off his face with a headband and a glint in his eyes that screamed mischief more than any action ever could, and it was enough to make Jordan believe he’d been too hasty in assuming the guy didn’t fit in there. “There are better dancers, but good god could you wax those abs and use him as a surfboard. If you’re into that.” He added almost like an after-thought, looking at Jordan then with a smile that seemed oddly sweet despite what he’d just said. All Jordan could do was nod a little, totally overwhelmed by the scenario and completely taken aback by what James meant by that this place was up Jordan’s street. That comment thumping through his head like the rhythm of war drums as Alisson swung around the pole, all long legs, and hard muscle.

“Harry said you were a newbie.” Jordan’s attention was stolen once more. “Said you looked a bit like a deer in headlights. What brings you here?”

“My mate started a job here.” Jordan said feeling rather like a stuck record, taking a sip from his drink and letting his eyes stare at the way the cherry sunk between two larger cubes of melting ice. It was a habit of Jordan’s to distract himself, it probably came from a desperate need to not be involved in things but judging by the soft smile on the stranger next him, he thought he’d indulge a little longer.

“Performer?” The man asked, eyebrow arched, and Jordan allowed himself a laugh, just at the mere suggestion of James Milner shaking his arse in a sequin brassiere on a stage.

“Barman. Don’t think he has the mug for that, like.” Jordan said, the man next to him letting out a bark of laughter.

“Right. First thoughts on the place?”

“Different.” Jordan said simply.

“Bad?” The guy countered quickly, and Jordan couldn’t help but smile at that. Perhaps it was because the guy’s own grin was so infectious, like he was taking time out of his day just to make Jordan feel more at ease. For no discernible reason other than the fact he wanted to. It was even more mind-boggling to Jordan how the man’s attention was solely on him despite Alisson gyrating across the floor beside them.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He said honestly, taking another sip of his drink.

“You’re the first bloke I’ve met who watches Alisson and isn’t impressed. Not your type?” There was a cheekiness to the guy’s voice, one that kept Jordan on the edge of his seat with intrigue whilst simultaneously being too scared to look him directly in the eye. Perhaps in his local pub he’d be giving him the come on, or at least attempting to, but here he was out of his depth and diving head first into the under-current of a world he was probably just scratching the surface of. He didn’t know the rules here. He didn’t know how to approach someone who was so evidently self-assured, more than he could ever dream to be and it left him feeling more exposed than he could have imagined from a visit of support for James.

Jordan didn’t know how to answer that though, but thankfully the guy seemed to pick up on that brick wall so instead continued.

“There’s a lot to offer here. Salah’s gonna start performing soon, quite the acrobat if that’s what you’re into. Ain’t a position he can’t bend in, it’s erotica at its finest.” He was leaning on the arm of the chair between them, Jordan looking down and then back up, just measuring up the closing of the space between them, wondering if it was an accident or not. “Griezmann and Giroud are a double act, might as well be fuckin’ before our very eyes.” The guy’s smirk gave him enough reason to believe it was no accident. “Neymar tends to wear Mardi Grais headpieces with the most intricately placed shining gems on them. Luckily he’s wearing little else.” Jordan was possibly imagining the way the man’s voice got a little breathless as he continued, the way he was leaning in even closer as the conversation progressed their elbows knocking slightly, and Jordan was left hanging on his every word and feeling the room decrease in size as the minutes went by without him.

“And what do you like?” Jordan asked, looking from the smaller guy’s lips and back to his eyes, he hoped it had been a subtle glance, but the guy smiled, biting the corner of his plump bottom lip. He gave a few moments before he let his eyes wander the length of Jordan from foot and back to his gaze, his look roaming the entirety of his body and Jordan would be lying if he said he didn’t nearly lose grip on the tumbler in his hand. The look itself was a suggestion of an answer before he even spoke.

“I don’t come here for the dancers.” His reply just solidified the idea and Jordan bit his own lip, with a faux casual nod.

“So what? You just come here to bully new guys into regrettin’ they stepped foot in the place?” He joked, enjoying that laugh again that had the guy’s head tilting back, exposing his pale neck under the bright lights that shifted across the stage.

“Are you regrettin’ comin’ here then?” They settled again in their little staring competition and Jordan wondered what University him would have done. Would he have been cocky enough to lean in? Would he be arrogant enough to put an arm across the back of the seat?

“I don’t think so.” Jordan opted instead for casual confidence, smirking at the man beside him who had the decency to look bashful and Jordan felt himself peacock at getting a reaction like that.

“Then I think I got a little bit of what I came here for.”  The man said, angling his body so that their knees brushed, and Jordan felt his whole-body heat at the contact. And then it was gone, the man rising from his seat. “It was nice meeting you-“

“Jordan.” He answered, drink discarded on the table as he rose to his feet, hand out stretched as the smaller man accepted it. His hand was smooth, soft enough that it had Jordan’s mind racing to the thought of it being wrapped around his-

“Adam.” And then he was pulling his hand away taking a step back, small smile still in place.

“Nice name.” Jordan said shaking his head as soon as he said it but despite feeling like an idiot, Adam’s answering laughter might have just been worth it. The light blush across his cheeks definitely made being a complete twat for a second worthwhile.

“Don’t be a stranger, Jordan.” And then he was gone, disappearing into the newly entered crowd by the bar, leaving Jordan stood staring after him among the cheers and whistles for Alisson who was bowing on stage behind him.

 

 


	2. Jesse

 

“Jesse, you absolute wasteman!” Jesse laughed, face buried in his pillow and he wondered why he even bothered answering his phone if it just meant getting abuse off the insufferable idiot on the end of the line.

“You callin’ me just to rinse me? Cos you can just do one mate.” It really wasn’t unlike Marcus to be hounding Jesse at the tender hour of 6am and as wind crackled through the phone, Jesse knew Rashy was probably just getting home. It reminded him of late nights when they were sixteen, at that awkward age of being between a kid and an adult, where they’d drink cheap cider down the park by their old houses walking the streets with their arm around one another, singing a stupid Usher song at the top of their voices like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Looking back, they didn’t.

“You’re a pussy man! Why’d you bail last night? Bare money behind the bar, bare Ciroc, absolute bare worldies left right and centre. I felt like that old ass geezer in the house with the playboys!” Marcus laughed, and it really was infectious cos Jesse found himself sitting up in his bed, wiping slumber from his eyes and smiling despite himself.

“Hate to break it to you Rashy, but my man in the mansion died.” He stretched as he rose from the bed, scratching lazily at his side as he made his way out to the kitchen with a loud yawn. He hadn’t been in his new flat for long, having moved from Balham to a nicer part of town when he realised his money was stretching further than he could have imagined. It was a nice space, one bedroom with an en-suite and then a small marble counter kitchenette area looking out to a larger open plan living and dining area. He had a small bathroom by the front door with a bath that had a built in jacuzzi option and if he could find a place like this at his age, he knew his job was taking him somewhere.

“I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. So much vodka consumed. Thought I’d have to have my stomach pumped today.” Marcus continued, Jesse making his way to the coffee maker and looking at his pod options.

It was a good problem to have he supposed, mulling over his coffee options as a morning issue every-day. He was in a good place, being just nineteen and living in a plush apartment complex by Borough market with 5-minute walk away from the Tate if he was feeling cultured, was never going to be a bad thing. But of course, there was still a gaping hole in the life he’d built himself from scratch.

“Mate, caramel espresso or magnum cappuccino?”

“Miss me with an espresso man, you get a shot of coffee? What’s the point when you can have a big one?” Marcus said, Jesse rolling his eyes despite sorting himself a cappuccino, the machine whirred to life as he made his way across the grey wooden flooring of his flat, undoing the living room blinds and looking out at the London streets that were beginning to wake up with him.

 “I’m glad Paul had a good birthday.” Jesse said, he didn’t want his voice to sound as sad as it did. Because truth be told he did miss spending so much time with his friends. He put it down to a fault of the job’s.

When he first started at South of Heaven as some unsure teen who felt down and out about cash and his sexuality he had been warned not to let the job take over and he couldn’t exactly pin-point the moment where it had done just that.

Marcus could probably say the exact date of when Jesse started getting distant.

Not that Lingard would even dream of telling his family or mates what he did for a living. There had been moments he wanted to tell Rashy. Moments where he thought maybe Rashford wouldn’t mind, would still accept him. But it wasn’t just the job, it would result in the whole thing coming out, the whole journey of self-discovery Jesse was only part way to understanding himself, unravelling and leaving them both with more questions than answers. So instead he did what he felt like he had no choice but to do in his position, he lied.

“Missed you, man.” Marcus said honestly, and Jesse swallowed, eyes shutting as he contemplated throwing his phone out the window. Instead he pulled away to sigh aloud before coming back to the conversation.

There was a lot of things Jesse wouldn’t dare tell Marcus, and the way his heart swooped low at that was just one of them.

“Course you miss me, I’m the only man you know with banter.” He said with a sad smile, hearing his coffee as it alerted him to his drink being made, if the sound didn’t the smell definitely did and he followed it on sleepy legs.

“Where were ya?”

“Working fam. How else am I gonna buy creps?” Jesse walked back into the bedroom, mug now in hand and mentally going through his day routine.

_Order in shopping, finish coffee, 20 crunches, shower, toast, bus._

“Fair but it would have been sick. Plus, your creps are shit anyway.” Lingard rolled his eyes, something he found himself doing a lot as far as the other lad was concerned. He sat on the bed, putting his phone on loud speaker and dragging his laptop up from the floor. It was a feat that he managed not to spill any of his coffee, wrapping his hands around the comforting warmth of the cup as he watched his Macbook load up.

“Next time, man defo.”

“You said that last time.” Marcus said sounding like a sulking child. Marcus Rashford was a fool, and yet Jesse couldn’t imagine a world that didn’t have him. A sudden wave of realisation washed over him when he thought that his work life was a whole new world Marcus could never be part of. He swallowed some hot coffee at that, just to distract himself from the feeling.

“It’s hard getting time off work, fam.”

“You’re a barman, if your boss is that pressed, quit and get a job literally anywhere else.” He had told the lads when he first got the job that he was working in some top bar in downtown London somewhere. The questions had come rolling in, how did he afford Yeezys? How did he have 3 sets of Beats headphones? He couldn’t exactly say the truth of it so that’s when the lies started coming and before he knew it he had invented an entire life away from South of Heaven and couldn’t see a moment in the future where he could turn it around.

“Mate, my job is too well paid for that.”

“Get me a fuckin’ job there then.” Marcus complained with a petulant tut.

“What so we can both not have a social life? I don’t think so dickhead.” Jesse laughed, scrolling through the order details of the bespoke lingerie in his online basket. The Maison De Grande Lux collection was limited edition after all and red lace really was his signature and £300 for a suspender belt was a luxury his job required. Not all the lads wore women’s lingerie, in fact a lot of them didn’t. Maguire had stated he wouldn’t be caught dead in girly pants, Salah said he didn’t trust his acrobatics with something so skimpy, Stones said it wasn’t his thing and a fair few others agreed. But everyone needed a gimmick and the young tease was Jesse’s, plus Women knew what they were about, Men’s underwear looked boring as fuck in comparison.

Again, not exactly a search history he’d want his friends discovering.

“Well you workin’ tonight? I got the day off tomorrow and I can swing by and have a drink there.”

“Nah man, you ain’t a member ennit.” Jesse rushed to say, Marcus’ sigh already cutting through his words and making him want to throw himself off the bed.

“I’m beginning to think you’re Batman you know.” His friend said after a moment of silence that seemed to settle over the pair more than he liked to admit.

“That’s my secret.” Lingard said with a sad smile.

“Knew it.” Marcus laughed before letting out another sigh ringing that had Jesse’s eyes closing. “Fine then, well I’ll catch up with you soon then.”

“Yeah man, for sure. Take care.” He hung up the phone, smirking down at his lock screen which was an ugly snapchat Marcus had sent him a few months ago where he didn’t look human, but it made him fucking crease up whenever he saw it. He let his thumb trace over the picture before the screen went blank.

Jesse went through his morning routine, trying to ignore the annoyance that followed him. Even on the bus to the club he was sat going through Instagram and frowning at all the stories and posts from Pogba’s birthday. Looked like they had a VIP booth, bottles of all sorts with sparklers out the tops in their hands and after the third photo of Marcus with his arm around a petite blonde, Jesse locked his phone and shoved it in his coat pocket with an irritated sigh.

It was always chilly in the street of London before 8am and Jesse hunched his shoulders, hoping the sun would be out by the time the meeting finished as he made his way to the staff entrance of the club, Adam Lallana stood with his eyes closed and a foot up on the wall behind him outside.

“Mornin’ lad!” Jesse called out, approaching the man with a slight dance in his step. Adam simply laughed, clapping his hand against Jesse’s with a groan and a yawn.

“How the fuck are you always so chipper?” Adam asked with a squint, despite the sun not even shining. “Mate, I’m knackered. I drank way too much on shift.”

“It’s Harry man, he’s lethal with the freebies” They both laughed at that, perhaps thinking back to Christmas where the club shut for a day and somehow most of the lads ended up back in the venue, lights up, music on and drinks flowing.

Thank god for Kane’s set of keys.

“Gareth would kill him, if he knew.”

“None of us are dickhead enough to tell him though ennit.” Jesse laughed, tongue pressed to his teeth as Adam rolled his eyes fondly.

“How ya been Jess?”

“Alright, got no social life but I have abs for _days_ so I’m winning in the long run.” He joked, his cheeky laughter infectious as the older man grinned widely back.

“Good point.”

“How about you? You seemed well distracted last night.”

“Yeah I wasn’t feeling it, kept misjudging that fuckin’ spin.” Adam said, Jesse choosing not to press at the bristle in his tone. Adam had seemed fine at the start of the night, looked like his usual professional self and then by the time his second show of the night came up he seemed irritated and distracted. Jesse knew it happened sometimes, they were human after all and you couldn’t be happy shaking your arse every minute of the day.

“I’m not feelin’ this meeting, like.” Jesse whined, opening the door and holding it for Adam as the pair made their way down the hallway and out into the main room, taking a seat and surveying their workmates dotted around the audience space.

“Morning lads!” Gareth called out, everyone grumbling in reply as he made his way to the front of the seats of the main stage before hoping up on the podium, legs swinging down as he smiled out at all the performers.  So early in the morning it was no wonder that he didn’t receive a vibrant welcome. Half the dancers were curled up on the seats, the others turning arm chairs around to put their feet up.

Jesse always found it was odd to see the boys in the main room like this, rather like seeing a dog loose in the playground at school. They all sat in their baggy comfy clothes, lights on bright overhead despite their boss sat as smartly dressed as always in front of them.

“Just letting you know, the rotas are now up and if anyone needs any days off just let me or Kane know, and we can sort it out before Monday. Just a couple things I wanna mention in today’s meeting. We’ve had a surge of new memberships come since the start of last month, which is great! Just means we need to keep looking sharp every night. That means brushing up on the routines, keeping ourselves clean and presentable and wearing bespoke lingerie or costumes only.” Gareth began.

“Yeah, so stop buying your pants from Primark, Stones!” Maguire called out, the lads erupting into laugher as John threw his empty water bottle at the boy in the back row of armchairs.

“If anyone needs any new underwear or fancies a change to switch it up a bit, we have a list of stores and websites hanging in the dressing room hallway that offer discount for bulk buys, so give it a look over and see what you fancy.” Harry added stood at the front, looking through the notes on his clipboard. Jesse yawned into the back of his hand, cursing Marcus for choosing cappuccino when it was definitely an espresso day.

“We have interviews for a new performer now that Ramos has left so myself and Kane will be going through them today, so if you do see any of the candidates whilst you’re practising or getting ready, just grab them for a chat and possibly show them around a little, remember how nerve wrecking it was for you all when you started.”

“Yeah remember how innocent we all were, Gareth!” Kieran called out, their manager simply smirking down at his paper, choosing not to respond even as Lingard tutted dramatically.

“Fuck off Tripps, last time you were innocent was when you spent 9 months in your Mum.”

“Who hasn’t spent 9 months in his Mum?” Stones piped up, the group erupting into jeers as Kieran threw his bottle at John too. Though his hadn’t even been opened if John’s whiny complaint was anything to go by.

“Ant and Olivier, you’ve been requested for a private booking tonight. It’s at 9pm so you have plenty time to get the routine tight as it can be. These are big clients, I’m talkin’ big. We’re opening up the private bar in the guest lounge, so Milner and Vardy will be on that. They’re bringing their own security, so they’ll be going through the back way.”

“Shit.” Neymar hissed, Jesse laughing along.

Someone making that kind of fuss for a private function screamed politics, and Lingard was just gassed to gossip with Ant the next day about what rich white guy from the news it was this time. They had those clients a fair bit, but Jesse hadn’t managed to come across a famous face. At this point, it was only a matter of time.

“Anything in particular they’ve asked for?” Olivier asked, fingers running through Ant’s hair who was leaning against the older man’s chest, thumbs up at the boss despite his eyes fluttering through his apparent sleepiness with every slow drag of his boyfriend’s hand.

“Nothing in particular, but I think the matching red ensembles are a fan favourite, so I’d recommend opting for that. Lingard, you’re on main stage tomorrow night with Maguire and Lallana, so if you guys could sort out your music transitions amongst the three of you that would be helpful and one less job for Bellerin!”

“Yes Sir!” Lingard mock saluted, jigging his leg up and down, foot kicking against Salah’s who looked just as tired as Antione.

The meeting went on much the same, just discussing weekly events or anything that may be bothering the team. After another foolish complaint from Maguire complaining about Coutinho’ choice in jeans, Gareth and Harry left the lads to it, dismissing everyone and talking amongst themselves at the front of the stage as Coutinho and Maguire fell into a play scuffle that lead to a few of the lads going for a fag, Lingard being one of them.

The city streets were starting to wake up, the traffic passing by the road ahead between the two tall buildings either side of them as the 3 stood around by the fire escape, littered fag ends from previous cigarette breaks discarded around them.

“England is fucking _freezing_.” Neymar remarked, Olivier immediately jumping to agree as Lingard stared at them like they had both gone mental.

“Are you mad? Catch me melting under the air-con by 6pm fam.” Jesse joked, the trio laughing just as the fire escape opened revealing their boss.

“Jesse, can I have a word in my office in a minute, please.” Gareth said, Jesse lifting a thumb in understanding as his boss left back inside the building leaving Olivier and Neymar looking at the youngest boy with mocking expression. Jesse rolled his eyes at that.

“I’m 19 and I still shit myself that I’m gonna get in trouble.”

“Get ready, he’s having _the_ chat with you.” Neymar said, sucking on his vape and Olivier nodded, tapping the ash from his cigarette. Jesse knew what the chat was, it was the chat that every performer had after spending a certain amount of time in the club and it did nothing to calm Jesse’s nerves at the prospect.

It’s not like Gareth was a scary bloke, literally the complete opposite of one. He was slender and smiley and spoke in the same hushed tone even when he was angry but still Lingard didn’t want to sit in front of him and have him ask Jesse to make a decision he’d been mulling over for literally months with no discernible outcome as of yet anyway.

“Don’t feel like you have to escort.” Neymar rushed to assure him, Olivier nodding along to that.

“Exactly, plenty of us here don’t.”

“I just dunno man. On one hand the money is sick, but on the other hand I dunno how I’d feel about it like.” Jesse said, taking a large inhale from his menthol.

“Yeah that’s the problem. I used to escort, and only stopped when me and Antoine became official.” Olivier said with a thoughtful pout. Lingard found that whole idea hard to believe, him and Antoine were such a couple’s couple that the mere thought of them fucking other people at any point ever seemed completely alien to him.

For what he knew, Ant and Olivier had been together for over 5 years, and Jesse would be lying if he said he didn’t envy their relationship’s simplicity. It wasn’t simple in its dynamic, that fact was made clear by how they spent half of it collecting money from a stage in their underwear, but it was the other things that made it so. The way Olivier would tuck flyaway hair behind Ant’s ear so casually when the younger man would be ranting to the lads about a level on _Fortnite_ , hair falling over his face after a particularly colourful explanation.

It was in the way they’d always arrive and leave for every shift hand in hand, unafraid and unapologetic for their connection. Jesse would be the first to call them saps, laughing as Antoine would jump on his back and threaten to mess up his hair, but he supposed the reaction proved just how much it was obvious he didn’t mean it.

“How was it, escortin’ and that?” Jesse asked, inhaling on his cigarette at the same time the French man did, Giroud leaning against the wall and looking off into the distance.

He was a ridiculously attractive man, most of the men Jesse worked with were but Giroud looked particularly well-groomed. He was a definite fan favourite, and his connection with Griezmann added more of a sensuality to his performance. Jesse often joked to Lallana that they should be the English version of Les Deux.

“If you can easily remove yourself from situations it’s good. Like you said amazing money, and it is sometimes enjoyable. But personally, you’re too young.” He ended his words with a flick of his cigarette end across a few parked cars, before turning a shrug on Lingard. Jesse hated how he outwardly bristled at that, he wanted to lash out and ask Giroud how he could say that when he and Antoine got together when Antoine was just 20 but instead he bit his lip, throwing his cigarette away half smoked before he went back inside, winding down the backstage of the place towards Gareth’s office.

He was the youngest performer there, and it was painfully obvious that the others saw him as such. Always seemed tentative around him like he hadn’t been there over a year and he really was sick of it. He was the best dancer, he was getting just as many if not more requests than some of the lads who had been there for twice his stretch. It bothered him because it was just another feeling of inadequacy he kept having to leap over, this chat with Gareth feeling like yet another.

He was stood outside the familiar door soon enough, knocking once before he heard a voice granting his request. He popped his head round, unsurprised to see Southgate typing away at his computer keyboard, one hand offering out in gesturing to one of the leather seats in front of his sleek white desk.

“I’m just finishing up this invoice, then I’ll be right with you kid.”

“Take your time, good sir.” Jesse said cheekily, Gareth shaking his head despite his smile. Jesse took the few moments of silence to look around the office he knew well enough.  It matched the rest of the club’s interior, sleek black against shocking white, the hint of a sandalwood diffuser in the corner setting the room in a homely smell that should have felt of place but didn’t. Gareth fixed him with a look then, turning in his chair to fully face the teen.

“How’s it going, Jesse?” Gareth asked, leaning on his desk with a warm smile that usually felt comforting to Lingard but made him hesitantly nervous. Gareth had a way about him that was inherently supportive, and kind and it was perhaps the best way to be in an industry that was so rampant with people out to take advantage and people hell bent on making money for money’s sake.

It never felt that way with Gareth, despite it perhaps being that way to some extent. Lingard was young, but he wasn’t that naïve.

“Fine, got some kind of idea as to what this conversation is about.” He said, fingers tapping at his knee, Gareth nodding once.

“It’s an important part in anyone’s career here as a performer. Just wanted to talk to you today about the options you have if you were to choose to go into escorting. I also wanted to make you aware of the risks and issues that may come up if you did choose to do this.” Gareth opened his desk draw, pulling out a bound booklet, passing it to Lingard who accepted it, the club’s logo emblazed on the cover. “Of course, we’re not expecting for you to make a decision today, just give it some thought for now and in a few weeks, we can talk things over again.”

“I have been thinking about it for a while, to be fair.”

“I know the money seems tempting, but I want you to know that shouldn’t be the only deciding factor. I’m sure you’ve had Adam and Luka telling you about that part of it, but I can’t stress how much more there is to it than that. Money is a huge part of this industry, but one thing I value above anything here is your comfort and safety. They are paramount and non-negotiable.”

“I know.” Jesse said softly, looking down at his hands to avoid the intensely comforting eye from his boss. It felt overwhelming to have someone care so much about him, who didn’t really have to.

“Like I said, give it some serious thought. Sit down with some of the lads and talk to them. Talk to your friends or family or anyone who might know about your profession, just talk it through. But most importantly think it through, read up on the material I’ve given you and when you’re ready for our next chat I’ll be here.”

“Thanks Gaz.” Jesse said, leaning over the desk to wrap his boss in a one-armed hug, the older man slapping his back lightly before pulling away to sit back down at his computer.

“Now get out there, you’ve got a big dance number to prepare for tonight, remember!” He said with mock annoyance, Jesse saluting on his way out the office, hitting the rolled-up print-out off his palm as went.

The idea was a real possibility now. Escorting had always been something he knew could happen but had never really been given the choice and now it was presented to him, it was even more of a headfuck than he thought. What’s worse was that the first thing that his thoughts kept tracking back to was Marcus.

How Marcus would feel if he ever found out that Lingard was fucking blokes for cash. If he’d punch him or turn his back on him. Whatever he’d do, Jesse couldn’t bear to think too much about it as he entered the main room, bypassing the stage and making a beeline for the man who was stretching with Messi.

“Adam, can I have a word?” Jesse asked, rubbing the back of his neck in an illusion to appear casual. Adam gave him a once over that said in no words at all that he was fully aware Jesse was anything but casual. He rose to his feet, allowing Jesse to lead them over to one of the large leather booths in the sectioned off VIP area.

Jesse sprawled on one side, rolled up booklet placed on the small table in front of them. Adam looked at it with an eyebrow raised, elbows on his knees as he awaited Jesse’s words. It was always easy talking to Adam, he didn’t push or pry or try to drag Jesse’s feelings out, he was patient and observant and Jesse supposed that’s why he saw Adam as one of his closest friends at work.

Jesse looked over to the main stage where Maguire and Messi were attempting one of Salah’s backward rolls, clearly to a less than graceful approach as by Maguire’s second attempt Alisson all but fell laughing from his position seated on the edge of the stage.

“Me and bossman had the talk.” He swallowed thickly, replaying the conversation in his mind.

“I see.”

“You’re not gonna bullshit me, are ya?” Jesse stated, fixing Adam with a look who pouted shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat.

“No, I won’t.”

“So, what should I do?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Adam said seriously. “But I can tell you what it’s like.” He took Jesse’s silence as an invitation to continue so he cleared his throat. “My first time wasn’t, ideal.” Adam began, voice dropped in volume and Jesse looked back at him, the sincerity in his tone grabbing his attention entirely. “It was in one of the fancy hotels in Mayfair, some seedy older guy with more money than sense who took me around an art gallery’s private view as some pretty boy on his arm. It felt weird, knowing it was like some huge obstacle course before we’d be going back to his hotel room as the finale of the bullshit night. And it felt different than like stripping does here, where it’s hidden. You’re out in the world and everyone knew in that room that I wasn’t this bloke’s boyfriend. They knew he’d paid for the privilege and all night I felt like I was under some spotlight. I remember my skin crawling whenever someone would ask me what I did for a living.” Adam laughed, hand running through his hair and Jesse couldn’t help but regret asking, if the look on Adam’s face was anything to go by. “Anyway, we went back to the hotel and it was like I was a virgin all over again. And don’t get me wrong, he did everything we agreed on, and didn’t do a thing more. The transaction took place and I went home.” His teeth abused his bottom lip as he sighed out a shaking breath. “But I didn’t escort again until a year later. Took me a long time to dissociate sex from feelings, and I spent too long feeling dirty.”

“Why’d you still do it?” Jesse asked, that nativity he hated about himself no doubt coming across to Adam who just shrugged it off.

“Because I’m older now, wiser. I know that when I sleep with these men it’s not much different from grinding on their laps with my dick out. But it took me a while to get there.” There was a raw honesty to Adam’s words, Lallana leaning forward and patting Jesse’s knee who nodded, trying his best to understand. “Olivier said he thought he’d annoyed you earlier with saying you’re too young.” Adam’s laugh was enough for Jesse to know that he perhaps half expected Lingard’s exacerbated sigh and eye roll combo.

“He wasn’t being a twat, I mean he is a twat, but he wasn’t intending to be then. He’s right and most importantly he said it because he cares, just like I do now.” Jesse hated when Adam said exactly what he needed to hear, it made his cooler-than-you persona a lot harder to maintain.

“We’re a family here, Jess. Fucked up and dysfunctional as it is, we have each other’s back. And I would rather quit tomorrow and never come back than to have you go out and do something you’d regret that could have been prevented through proper thinkin’.”

“Come here, big man.” Jesse said, scooting around to meet Adam halfway, the pair hugging it out, hands slapping each other’s back as their embrace tightened. “I knew you wouldn’t bullshit me.”

“You remind me a lot of me, you know.” Adam said, pulling away and ruffling up Lingard’s hair who pushed him away with a laugh, hands instantly sorting his hair the older man rolling his eyes as they rose to their feet.

“Do you think I’d ever leave the house in them shoes, bro?” Jesse joked, pointing down to Adam’s Vans trainers, Lallana ready to protest the attack. Jesse fell to his knees dramatically, shouting out a Vine reference that Adam would one hundred percent _not get_ , but judging by the echo of the quote from a few around the room, Jesse was reminded he weren’t alone.

It came down to him not having to be alone through any of it really, not whilst he was a part of the team anyway and that thought was as comforting as any.

 


	3. Olivier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dubious consent

 

The mood in the meeting was lackluster, but it picked up soon enough as it always did. The boys had set up one of the speaker systems, Lallana and Lingard practicing through some of their moves as the others did the same for their own routines.

Olivier stretched, feeling the sharp twang of his muscles beneath his skin that yearned for a massage. He didn’t want to think he was getting too old for stripping, but the signs were all there. From the grey hair he plucked out the front of his hairline, running into Antoine in the living room and presenting it still lodged between both tweezer pincers like it was an archaeological find. To the subtler things like the way his knees clicked when he got out of bed in the morning, or the way he found himself completely lost in any conversation between Dybala and Lingard concerning hashtags and the like.

It was kind of a bleak thought as a stripper, to feel as though his internal body clock was ticking but it was a fact of life. One that became more and more apparent whenever Gareth would recruit new performers, all slim, young athletic things with dreamy eyes and killer abs. He tried not to think of it too much, said he’d worry the day two newbies come in with the same gimmick of a double act as him and Antoine.

Still his thigh muscle twinged again with the foreboding feeling of a future cramp looming over the horizon, he decided against testing that possibility. He got up, heading through the backstage area and down towards the hallways leading to the dressing room.

The back of the building had a different feel entirely from the main room, it was rather like through the looking glass, where the wall’s paints were peeling and old and the strippers wore baggy sweatpants and sliders.  He turned down the corridor of the staff offices and came to a halt in his tracks.

Outside the office was a man holding onto a portfolio, clearly there as a possible new guy. He was wearing well-fitting trousers, and a slimline white shirt that left a few buttons open showing the curve of his sternum. Overall though, he looked lost, dark eyes wide and round until they fell on Giroud.

He thought back instantly to that morning’s meeting, about looking out for new recruits but Giroud couldn’t ignore his own thoughts. Southgate definitely seemed to be going for the young and beautiful dynamic of a dancer which left a bitter taste in Giroud’s mouth to say the least.

This boy looked like Michelangelo had carved him, all curly locks and hollow cheekbones, porcelain skin looking unmarked and untainted. Olivier could already envision several stage personas for this man. Innocent and coy, Lolita, Daddy’s Little slave, Virginal. All pure and all so very fitting as the man flashed Giroud a smile followed by an awkward wave. Olivier cleared his throat, hoping not to make the man feel self-conscious from having just stared at him, so he instead approached with a hand up in response and his most charming grin.

“Hey, are you here for the interviews?”

“Yeah.” He answered, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his full mouth and Olivier hated the way his stomach lurched a little at the familiarity that hung in the man’s accent like a welcome home banner. “Hey, where about in France are you from?” He continued, speaking with an easy confidence that had Giroud smiling.

“Chambery.”

“ _Ooh,  Southern boy_!” He said in French, voice edged with a laugh that had Giroud rolling his eyes good naturedly.

“ _Hardly_! _What’s your name_?” Speaking in French was such an uncommon thing for him now, something that felt alien and somehow wrong. Him and Antoine had insisted pretty much since landing the job that their English was only ever going to get better if they practised as much as possible so even in the comfort of their shared home they spoke in English. But he couldn’t explain just how much he enjoyed moments like this, however few and far between they seemed to be where he could just slip with ease into his mother-tongue, savouring the way it felt in his mouth, the way it felt like the home he had forgotten.

“Ben Pavard.” He held out his lithe hand, Giroud accepting it and hating how he remained clasping for a moment longer than necessary before he let go.

“Olivier Giroud.”

“ _So Olivier, are you a performer here_?” French was such a beautiful accent, reminded him of snowy top Alpines and crisp fruity wine. He hated that he felt more at home with seven words than he had done in several years.

“ _Yes, believe it or not_.” He joked, gesturing to his body which Pavard took as an invitation to look at, his eyes flicking from head to foot and back again.

“ _Oh, I believe it_.” Ben said, those long spidery fingers tucking a raven curl behind his ear and before Giroud even knew what he was doing he was tracking the movement, eyes following veins down the length of a slim ghost white arm.

Gareth’s door opened then, Olivier taking a step back unknown to himself as his boss fixed him with a relaxed smile that had Giroud releasing the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Even as Ben fixed him with a smirk out the corner of his eye.

“Ah! Olivier, I take it you were getting acquainted with one of our candidates! I hope he didn’t scare you off too much.” Gareth said, clapping Ben on the back who laughed easily, long neck exposed in doing so.

“Quite the opposite actually.” His English was good, enunciated clearly and boldly and Olivier found himself shying away from the suggestion in his words.

“Well thanks Giroud, I’ll take it from here.” Gareth said, holding the door open for Pavard who threw a wave towards Olivier who simply responded with a smile and a nod before turning off down the hallway and back towards the changing room, the dull throb in his thigh long forgotten.

Ben seemed like he’d fit in well with the other men, Olivier thought he had a cheeky edge to him. He clearly wasn’t the kind to shy away from conversation, so he was already a winner in Olivier’s mind. They needed to keep busy talking in this business, found that spending too much time trapped in your own thoughts could get dangerous, questioning could turn to shyness and no one wants a stripper too afraid to dance on a stage.

Ben hadn’t even said where he was from but judging by his comment Olivier imagined he was a northern boy, from a quaint village with thatched roofs and light blue sky backdrops. Olivier made the way back from the changing room, leg greasy with muscle rub and he purposefully had to stop himself from pausing outside Gareth’s door, what was he hoping to do? Listen in? In a way, yes. It was always odd when men came through the doors looking for a job, and Olivier always liked to wonder what brought them to this position. It was by no means a conventional job, and it was always interesting to see how people found themselves stripping for money.

He wondered how someone as innocent looking as Pavard could find himself hundreds of miles from home and in an underground bar like theirs no less.

He came back to himself as he crossed the main stage, rehearsals in full swing now. His eyes immediately fell to Griezmann. Ant was wrapped around a pole in his shorts and a loose-fitting Nike tank top that was most definitely Olivier’s, Alisson showing him how best to transition from a Chinese flag and into a suspension hip lock. His cheeks were pink, skin flushed as his practice went on, mouth hanging open in concentration as he listened to Cris, following the lead from Alisson’s steady hands.

Olivier felt the distant thrum of sickness curl in his stomach as he watched his boyfriend, mind falling back to dark eyes and curling hair and the familiarity of France. He couldn’t place the feeling, couldn’t shake why he was annoyed at Antoine in particular. Olivier didn’t go over to him, instead chose to latch himself on the outside of Stones and Trippier’s conversation. Not that he was particularly interested in what John’s girlfriend cooked him for Sunday dinner last week, but anything was better than the uneasy tugging in Olivier’s chest.

It took a few more stretches before Ant was walking over to him, water bottle in hand and skin shimmering from excursion.

“I’ve nearly got it!” Ant declared, mockingly flexing his arm and throwing a wink at Olivier who chuckled fondly at his energy.

“ _I’m sure you’ll get it in no time_.” He replied, twisting the top of his body and feeling the burn down the side of his back, Antoine letting out a mocking gasp.

“Ah! That’s a quid for the French jar.” He laughed, kneeling beside Trippier, hand on the guy’s shoulder who snickered along with him, wrapping tape around his palm.

“ _It’s like you’re fuckin’ ashamed or something_.” Olivier snapped. It definitely came out harsher than he intended as John, Kieran and Ant all fixed him with confused gazes. He sighed, rising to his feet, but Ant was somehow quicker, strong brow furrowed and mouth pouting like an angered kitten.

“ _Woah, chill out_.” He retorted firmly, voice in a fired-up whisper as his eyes darted to those around who were awkwardly pretending not to notice their spat. “ _We agreed it’s easier for us both if we speak in English as much as we can. Especially at work._ ” Olivier knew he was being a dick, knew that it would help them in the long run, with both clients and life in England as a whole. Practice makes perfect and all that, but he couldn’t help the urge for something more. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Why Ben seemed to be in his mind as he thought about France when Antoine was standing right in front of him and staring up at him like he was taking precisely none of Olivier’s shit today.

“ _Don’t you ever miss home_?” Giroud snapped unfairly and instantly felt like an arsehole the minute Antoine’s expression shifted from annoyed to upset and then settled on vacancy.

“ _Always_.” Ant said, eyes wide and shoulders sagging, and that thrum of sickness whirled inside Olivier again who didn’t even know how to respond to that, instead chose to head back to the dressing room to get into his practice gear. If he slammed the door behind himself a little too hard on the way, well no one needed to know why.

Giroud knew he could be an arsehole when he was in a mood. It said a lot that not even Jesse bothered him as the hours went on, so he spent most of his day alone and trying not to think too much about why he was so touchy and annoyed all of a sudden.

Antoine knew him too well and seemed to keep well out of his way, spending time with Alisson and Coutinho despite Olivier overhearing how he needed to practice a move for a _Les Deux_ performance. But just as it usually was, Antoine was the first to call truce, as he came up to Olivier that evening in the dressing room.

“I’m sorry, about earlier.”  Olivier said quietly, rubbing powder into his hands and inner thighs, Antione just standing over him with a questioning expression on his face. Olivier tried not to look into the smaller man’s eyes, too afraid he’d look right through his tantrum and see pale hands and dark curling hair.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to annoy you.” Of course, Antoine would apologise, his fingers reaching out to stroke down Olivier’s beard. The older man looked up at him then, Ant’s face screwed up in a mocking pout as he made grabby hands at Giroud.

God Olivier hated himself sometimes.

“You never could.” He said, accepting the man onto his lap and burrowing his face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of home. “Except for when you leave the bathroom floor wet after a bath and I go in after and ruin my socks.”

“Well I’m not perfect.” Ant protested in a laugh, digging his fingers into his boyfriend’s ribs who cackled, the two eventually settling in an embrace. Ant had his head on Olivier’s shoulder, the older man’s arms wrapped around him as he swayed his legs.

“No, you are _Mon Cheri_.”  Olivier whispered, turning Antoine’s chin towards him so their lips met in a soft kiss, easing the feeling of annoyance inside of him as simple as that.

“ _We can speak in French more if it makes you happy_.”

“ _Thank you_.” Giroud smiled kissing him again and continuing even when Maguire came in and made mocking retching noises like he was in middle school.

~*~

At just after 9pm men started filing into the hired-out room. They were all smartly dressed, they all screamed money and all of them looked to the two dancers already present. Olivier recognised some of them and the performer’s thoughts were confirmed as he was vaguely aware of not agreeing with a lot of their stances as a Political party. Despite that fact, he fixed them with his softest look, biting his lip and winking, watching as one man released a stuttering breath.

He decided to approach him, making small talk and letting his hands stroke the lapels of the guy’s expensive jacket as others spoke amongst themselves getting comfortable in the low-lit room.

Olivier didn’t recognise the man Antoine had chosen to saunter towards, the small French man pouting his full bottom lip and watching as the two men either side of his target both stared at him hungrily.

“You’re in for a special treat monsuier.” Antoine said, voice sweet and delicate as he straddled the tallest man in the middle, wrapping a red satin ribbon round the back of the man’s neck, allowing Griezmann to arch backwards seductively. Olivier watched as the man swallowed, eyes fixated on the satin covered bulge inches from him and he couldn’t help but smirk at the want written all over their faces.

“I’ve heard from a friend that you two are a sight for sore eyes.” A man said, Giroud rounding on him and recognizing him as Charles Hathaway and he instantly clicked as the big money client. He was pretty fucked up from what he’d seen, he tended to block a lot of the progressive laws in Parliament, he was a strong advocate for Brexit and he tended to always say something entirely outlandish and ridiculous that winded up in him becoming notorious in the media and online.

There was a certain irony to him paying for two male immigrants to get his rocks off.

“Your friend is not wrong.” Olivier said lowly, watching how Hathaway let his eyes roam over him before he nodded to his security to shut the door. Some of the men stood at the bar to get their drinks, others took seats and cast looks between Olivier and Griezmann, the latter of the two still sat in the same man’s lap, now whispering something in his ear that had him blushing.

It wasn’t a large party, Antoine and Olivier had danced for double the amount on a weekly basis, but it had been a while since they’d done a private booking with such a formidable client who took a seat directly in the middle of the leather seating along the wall, granting himself the best position.

Antoine left his ribbon draped around the man’s neck as he kissed his forehead stepping up onto the stage and letting his fingers flutter down Giroud’s chest who smiled at his arrival, their music playing overhead and their poise instantly shifting to the song’s vibe. They moved together to start with, bodies flush against one another and mouths a breath apart. Olivier’s heart still hammered at the sight of Antoine’s focus, his eyes glacial beneath his strong brow as he turned away, rolling his arse back into Giroud’s crotch who couldn’t help but pull him back against him, hand clutching around his neck as he licked a stripe up his face, nipping at the skin of his temple.

Antoine breathed out, their bodies still moving to the rhythm of the music. The tension in the room was building, Olivier much too aware that the men were looking on with appreciation and a desire to see more and who was he to deny them of that. He lifted his hand to stroke along the smooth oiled skin of his lover’s hard chest, hand still clutching at his throat as the other made its way down to his red thong. He let his fingers tease against the tied bow keeping the underwear on and Antoine turned to drop a kiss onto the corner of Oliver’s mouth before he broke free and made for the pole.

They’d practice the move before, Olivier grabbing Ant who lifted from the ground, spinning in his grasp so they were facing one another, trusting completely in Olivier’s strength who bowed forward, noses touching with Ant’s, his legs bent graciously to the side. Antoine used to be a ballet dancer, so his moves were always that way inclined and his grace was forever evident in how he danced.

Olivier laid Antoine out on the floor, the blonde man’s legs wide open in welcome, Olivier rolling his body down over him. He teased his tongue across Antoine’s jaw, his boyfriend’s hands stroking down his own neck, the two vibing with one another as they got into the swing of the moment.

This was the hardest part of the job, to be pressed so close to Antoine and not be fucking him. When he smelt of coconut from his baby oil and the faint hint of sweat clinging to his body like a second skin. It was entrancing, and Olivier allowed himself the small indulgence of flicking his tongue along his boyfriend’s nipple as he scooted off his body. Ant caught his eye, a slight smirk to his lips that soon vanished as he began to crawl towards one of the men seated beside the stage, Olivier making his way to the pole.

Their act continued, both opening up to the room, Ant accepting a £50 note between his teeth from one of the men who he crawled up to. Olivier was grinding up the pole, using his thigh strength to pull himself up into a dangerous bird spin before he fixed himself up to look directly at Hathaway who beckoned him with a crooked finger.

“What are you waiting for?” Hathaway said as Olivier approached, lighting a cigarette perhaps to validate his importance despite the club’s rules. No one was going to tell him otherwise, and he knew it. He pointed to Antione then who let his concerned gaze flick over to Olivier from his position on his knees. “Fuck him then.”

“We don’t do that here, good sir.” Olivier said teasingly, letting his fingers dance a trail across the man’s jawline who blew his smoke out in rings around the Frenchman.

Olivier tried not to flinch despite his anger flaring at the sneer that came into view from behind the thick smoke.

“£10,000 says you do.” The man said, and Olivier turned to see Antione practically gaping at him. Olivier fixed his gaze on Ant, looking for any look that would tell him he wasn’t ok with it, but he saw nothing but a brief nod, Olivier turned back to the man placing a kiss on his cheek and moved back towards the stage.

“Mon Cheri, if you don’t want-“ Olivier rushed to say just to have his boyfriend’s finger pressed to his mouth, silencing him.

“We do this practically every night. Now let’s do it to the tune of £10,000.” He said with a devilish wink before surging in to kiss his boyfriend who lifted the man from his feet in a well-practiced routine for the two. They worked easily together, knowing the dance of one another, knowing each step to perfection. It had been that way since their first night together all those years ago and now they were just more in tune than they had ever been.

It only made their dances tighter and the money thrown at them larger.

Antoine’s back was pressed to the pole, his arms shooting up, hands securing him as Olivier kissed down his body, fingers pulling the ribbon from his underwear, exposing him to the room. Olivier let his eyes fall over to Vardy and Milner behind the bar who didn’t know where to look, Milner choosing to wash the same glass he’d been wiping for an age whilst Vardy seemed to not be able to look away. He’d probably describe it to Giroud later as being like a car crash, he imagined.

Antoine was already getting hard, cock prominent against his perfectly waxed body and Giroud allowed his finger to stroke down the length of it, enjoying the shudder from his lover. He looked up into those bright blue eyes that had a knack for pinning him to the spot and found so suddenly that his gaze had darkened considerably.

The room felt too tight, the air too thick and the want in his chest too much to ignore as he fell to his knees, Antoine winking at him as he stepped away from the pole. He was a vision like this, skin bared under the soft red glow of the lights ahead, the mirrored walls reflecting him from every angle and Olivier was breathless on his knees, body heaving as he just watched the hypnotic rhythm of the smaller man’s body as he danced. Giroud couldn’t even stop himself from stroking at his own dick, his eyes drawn to Ant’s hands as they shifted down the hard lines of his body, cock bobbing as he moved.

For such a shy man, Ant came alive under people’s eyes. He was feeling himself now, well and truly in his element as his eyes fell on Olivier who could do nothing but stare. Perhaps it came across as false anticipation for the men lining the room, all eyes on them but the truth of the matter was he was at a physical loss of movement, not wanting to break the spell of Antoine’s dancing and then his lover was in front of him, hand on the back of his head and cock inches from his mouth.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he let his eyes roll up to meet Greizmann’s, throwing him a devilish look beneath the fan of his long lashes. Olivier’s hands rose up to Ant’s hips, twisting them so that the man paying could see exactly what he was to do. Olivier cast Hathaway a look drenched in sin, winking and feeling the thrill up his spine as the man’s breath visibly hitched. That was all the encouragement he needed, mouth swallowing Antoine’s cock down in a slow teasing press all the way to the base. Ant’s head snapped back, hands reaching out for the pole beside his boyfriend, allowing himself to drop backwards gracefully, arching his body so his cock slid further down the throat of Giroud.

He tasted as he usually did after dancing for a while and Giroud moaned around the length as he licked and sucked, trying to get all the taste from him that he possibly could. Of course, Antoine played up to it, moaning a little louder than he would if it were the two of them in bed at their apartment, but it was a show after all. Giroud lifted Antoine’s leg, wrapping it over his shoulder, he laid a palm flat on his hard stomach encouraging the man to arch even further back. He did as effortlessly as he could and soon enough he was as fully bent as he could be, body shaped so elegantly and effortlessly and fuck, Giroud was pretty sure he’d do this for free after all.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about fucking Antoine in front of people before, but in his dreams, they’d always been on the main stage, Antoine screaming his name louder than any speaker in the joint and Giroud thought now was his moment. At the thought, Olivier lifted a finger to stroke at the curve of Antoine’s arse. To his credit, the man didn’t lose full composure, despite faltering slightly in his position, pulling himself up using the pole, cock still thrusting in Giroud’s mouth, who used both hands to squeeze at the peachy arse of his now fully standing lover.

Antoine pulled himself painfully slow out of the hot heat of Giroud’s mouth who let his jaw fall slack, cock sliding from him with an inelegant string of slaiva still connecting them and then Antoine was holding onto the pole again, pulling himself up before he was elevated off the ground.

Olivier watched as he leant forwards, pushing his arse up and spreading his legs, and that was as much an invitation as any. Still on his knees, Giroud licked at the entrance presented to him, hands holding Ant’s strong thighs tongue swiping continuously over the pink hole.

He didn’t want to waste too much time prepping him, considered maybe the men in the room would want to see that, but he couldn’t. Even when it was just the two of them, there was only so much he could take, so he wet his fingers as seductively as he could as he stretched the smaller man open, his body shuddering with the effort to hold himself up and the feeling of fullness at the hands of the older man.

Giroud undid his own brief, the red ribbon falling away and exposing him as Antoine lay back onto the stage, all the while making a dance of the movements. His legs remained open and despite Olivier slicking up his cock with own saliva he knew it was still most likely going to hurt the man.

He pressed several kisses down Ant’s inner thighs, enjoying the needy whines from his lover and the way every eye in the room focused in on them, waiting for the moment that Olivier couldn’t keep from them any longer. He lined himself up to the entrance presented to him and slowly pushed himself in.

Ant moaned, back arching off the ground as he breathlessly adjusted to the feeling he was so familiar with. It didn’t take long for him to push down on the length inside him, the pair immediately falling into a rhythm they knew like the back of their hands.

Olivier’s skin felt on fire, fingers pressing bruises into Ant’s thighs as he fucked him like they were the only ones in the room. It became easier to tune out those around them after a while, Olivier lifting Antoine’s legs, kissing along his shuddering calf as the younger man played up to the feeling, arms out stretched either side of him and back arching upward as he was drilled into. He looked magnificent, sweat dripping down his body and leaving it in a glossy sheen as he clawed at the light up floor beneath them. Olivier felt harder than he ever had in his life, the feeling of every man in the room staring on at them in appreciation as his perfect boy let out the sweetest of moans over the sound of the music overhead.

Olivier let his eyes settle on Hathaway who sat directly in front of them, his cock a prominent bulge in his trousers as he dabbed at his forehead with an expensive handkerchief.

Antoine looked up at Olivier, nodding as he looked down to his hard cock bouncing in perfect time with every thrust drilled into him by his lover. Giroud growled, licking a stripe across his palm and wrapping it around the cock he knew better than his own, enjoying the way Antoine’s thighs threatened to close as his thumb brushed over the bead of pre-come trickling out the tip of his dick.

It lost all its beauty after a while, the urge to get off staving off any intent to look good whilst doing it as Olivier couldn’t control his hips as much as he wanted, Antoine’s breathy whines sending him fucking crazy. That’s when he noticed Hathaway approach them, Ant’s eyes on him with a smirk growing on his parting mouth. Olivier kept up his movements, watching how the stranger knelt down in front of the stage, eyes fixated on Antoine’s face who kept up his moans. Olivier felt the hot white heat of jealousy spark up his spine and he used it to drill that little bit harder into his lover who definitely felt the change of pace, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he reached out to grab anything he could.

Olivier noted the way Ant’s small hand wrapped around the Politician’s tie the man’s podgy hand running through Antoine’s hair. Griezmann’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth uttering repetitions of yes in both clumsy English and French.

“So beautiful.” The man said, thumb catching a bead of sweat that rolled down the side of Antoine’s face, who’s fist was still clutching at the man’s tie, their faces inches apart and all Olivier could do was fuck him. Hathaway bought the thumb to his own mouth, licking the bead of sweat from it before pushing his now wet thumb into Antoine’s slack mouth. Olivier could only fuck harder and swallow back the urge to lunge for the man, could only fuck harder still and bite back every angered slur that threatened to spill from his lips and then the Hathaway’s eyes flashed to Giroud, as though he could read his mind.

“Make him come, boy.” He said, and Olivier wanted to stop his hips completely, but Antoine was looking at him now, mouth sucking at the thumb offered to him and cock bobbing between their bodies. Giroud bent forwards forcing the man to pull his hand from Ant, whose legs were thrown over Giroud’s shoulders so that he was now close to the stranger too, his whiskey coated breath rolling out in hot spurts against Olivier’s face.

He smirked like he could sense the jealousy and didn’t move away because of it, just remained beside them through the final moments of their fuck. Olivier felt the sickening foreboding that used to plague him when he would escort, the fear that a line was going to be crossed again and he willed his body impossibly closer to Antoine’s in a desperate urge to shield him from anything else unexpected.

Olivier felt his orgasm building inside of him, urged it on as his eyes focused on Antoine who looked completely debauched, skin lit up like a night in Vegas as the music overhead couldn’t even silence his chants and pleas to finish him off. He felt a feeling as thick and sweet as honey rush from his stomach all the way through him and just as he felt Ant’s muscles clench around his cock, his body began to shiver white hot.

Olivier threw his head back with a guttural moan, a hand finding the back of his neck, and before he knew what was happening he was being guided into a kiss that he reciprocated, emptying himself into his boyfriend and moaning into the taste of cigars and liquor. He stuck his tongue further into the mouth, hand reaching up to hold at Hathaway’s face to anchor himself to something as his body numbed in the aftermath of his orgasm. He kissed through the feeling of utter elation that shook him to his core, Antoine’s arse tight and milking every drop from him as his hips rolled out in weak ministrations, lips still moving against the stranger who still held him tight.

Hathaway bit his lip just as Olivier felt something splash up onto his stomach, signalling Griezmann’s  orgasm.

Giroud pulled away when he returned to the moment. Antoine was just staring at him come coating his chest and hand unlatching from the politician’s tie who rose to his feet, lips shimmering with Olivier’s spit that left Giroud instantly frowning. Hathaway began an applause as he went to the bar for a drink and soon had the whole room joining in who whistled and clapped at the climax of the show.

But all Olivier could do was stare breathlessly at Hathaway, stood sipping on his peach and lime daiquiri like he was at a respectable country club.

He tried to pin-point in his mind exactly what had happened. Exactly how he’d let that happen and in front of Antoine no less.

He looked down at his boyfriend, who had shifted up onto his elbows as the room broke out into chatter and the bar began filling up again.

“ _I’m sorry, petit ange.”_ Giroud whispered, hands cupping Antoine’s face who was breathing heavily on the come down, his mouth still trapped around the ghost of his orgasm.

“ _Don’t_.” Antoine replied simply, hand pushing against Giroud’s chest who pulled out then, swallowing down the churning that was becoming an increasingly familiar feeling to him. Antoine wasn’t looking at him, he simply rose on shaky legs and collected his underwear before disappearing through the door at the back of the stage leaving Giroud blinking, cock softening and men all talking among themselves like he was no longer relevant.

The reality was, that he wasn’t anymore.

It was strange how sex could take him from the top of the world to the bottom of the gutter in less than a second and he must have been the visual representation of regret, knelt on the stage under a bright light, being ignored by those around him as he bared his nakedness to the room. It took him a few moments to gather himself, wondering when the tables had turned to have him feeling like he was no longer in control of what he allowed within the job and just as he rose to his feet, Hathaway was stood in front of him.

“Thank you, boy.” Hathaway said letting a finger stroke down Giroud’s face who didn’t move, simply stared at the man with a dare in his eyes. He seemed to notice the warning as he was soon pulling away with a smirk. “You’ve made an old man, very happy. And that little one is delightful. Who do I speak with in regard to getting him alone?”

“We don’t work alone.” He grit his teeth, hands in fists at his sides and a security guard of Hathaway’s stepped forward just to be halted by a stumpy hand raised to him.

Giroud’s new fantasy consisted of all the ways he could wipe that smug look off the prick’s face.

“I do recall you saying you don’t fuck on stage and well…” The man let his eyes flick down to Olivier’s cock who felt like the air got knocked out of him at that, feeling more exposed than he ever had done. “Everyone’s on sale here. And I want that one.” He gestured to the door Antoine had disappeared from and Olivier couldn’t even stop his snort of taxed laughter.

“We aren’t on sale.” Giroud spat quietly, and then the man smirked again an awful sneer of a thing as he lifted a cheque between the two of his fingers. He flapped it in front of the Frenchman’s face who swallowed thickly at the insinuation. At the truth of it.

“I think you’ll find I just bought you.” He dropped the cheque at Olivier’s feet who just stared at it dumbly. “The holier than thou act is cute, it’s hot. I’d definitely see you again. So, don’t be a stranger, _au revoir_.” And then he was leaving with the rest of the men, security following them until he was left in the room, smelling of sex, sweat and feeling 2 feet tall.

He picked the cheque up, wanting to rip it up into a million tiny pieces but, how could he? That’s what all that had boiled down to? And he wasn’t prepared to have gone through that bullshit for nothing. He’d felt so in control. And that was his biggest down fall.

“Mate come have a drink.” Vardy said tentatively, Olivier just nodded, walking over to him and picking his briefs up, pulling them up on the way. He leaned against the cool surface of the bar, enjoying the coolness against his slick skin. He slapped the cheque down in front of Jaime and saw the exact moment Vardy read the amount, because his eyes bugged out his head, mouth falling agape as even Milner looked completely taken aback.

“Money talks. Once an escort and all that” Olivier laughed bitterly as he leant forwards, hauling up a bottle of Kraken and pouring some into his mouth. Ignoring the way Vardy and Milner exchanged glances. The alcohol tasted bitter and sharp and he hated how he craved another long sip just to rid his mouth of the taste of cigarettes and peach daiquiris.

“Mate that’s fucking crazy money. I would have fucked that fat bloke for £10,000.” Jaime said trying to lighten the atmosphere. Giroud didn’t miss the hand that covered the back of his own and he looked up to Vardy. “That was you and Ant, I mean you practically do that every show anyway.”

“I need to go talk to him.”

“Yeah you’ve given him a bit of space now, I reckon now would be a good time.” Milner said with a wink, putting the glasses into a dishwasher tray behind him as Giroud simply nodded in agreement. He made his way out of the room, cheque in his hand and he couldn’t erase from his mind the way Antoine had looked at him, the ghost of a kiss on his lips that Antoine didn’t give him.

He punched the nearest wall, watching the plaster crumble in the same hallway he had stood that same morning, his mind casting back to before he had even met Antoine when standing on the corner of a Parisian street was how he’d make his rent money.

He flinched at the thought, pressing his forehead to the wall and trying his best to ease his frantic breaths and trying his best to not lose his head entirely.

Antoine had been the change he needed, a university student approaching Olivier in the street and asking if he wanted coffee. So brazen and bold and so completely assure of himself. As if summoned, Antoine came around the corner, taking a look at the wall and then Giroud who turned to him with a sad smile, straightening up in an attempt to look composed.

“Oli.” He paused, shoulders visibly sagging, Antoine was stood with Olivier’s large hoodie draped over his shoulders, making him look as young as the day he had met him.  He took a step forward, raising the hand to his lover that wasn’t cut from the impact from the wall and wasn’t holding the cheque, letting his fingers flutter over Antoine’s cheek who leaned into the feeling.

“I’m sorry. _I should never have let that man touch you_. _Or me for that matter_.”

“It is done now.” Antoine said, and Olivier wished it was as simple as that.

“Please, tell me what you’re thinking.” He hated the way his voice edged with a plea, but he was stood almost naked in the hallway after just fucking for money, so he couldn’t really think of a better time to look desperate.

“I don’t know. Mad? Annoyed he pushed us so far? Annoyed we took the bait? Mad you kissed him?” Antoine sighed at the last one and the upset glazed in his eyes sent Giroud’s anger spiralling into a miserable tug of sadness deep in his gut.

“I’m sorry, mon amour. I’m so sorry, it was stupid and there’s no excuse.” He wanted to say how he still lost his head sometimes, still thought about the life they left in France and thought about the bad and the good, about how he wanted to go home just to see if he could stomach it. They’d left so quickly so there was never a definitive goodbye, but Giroud wasn’t the same person who had left. He was stronger now and Antoine was the reasoning for that strength.

“You were good. Really good. He got exactly what he wanted.” He bought Olivier from his thoughts and he sighed, bowing his head and nodding in acceptance of his part of the blame.

“You gave it the go ahead, I wouldn’t have even indulged the idea if you had been against it.” To his credit Antoine nodded.

“I know. Perhaps we should put this down to a bad day at work and maybe save this conversation for when we’re not so… well. I think we should talk about this in the morning.” He took a step closer and with the mix of adrenaline, confusion, sadness and anger Olivier nearly cried at the gesture. Instead he looked into his lover’s eyes, unashamed of the tears that glossed his vision.

“I dunno, I had you with me, so it couldn’t have been too bad and yeah you’re right.” Olivier said with a sad laugh, cupping the shorter man’s face who rolled his eyes smiling despite himself.

“The pole trick is something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while just, so you know.” Antoine added cheekily, in an attempt to make Olivier smile. Of course, it worked, and both their faces lit up at the same time.

“You are wild, _Mon Cheri_.” Olivier laughed, hands tracking down Ant’s neck and to his shoulders.

“ _I think a trip home will be covered by £10,000, no?”_ Antoine looked up at him through glacier eyes, freezing Olivier in his place, his hands still rubbing up and down the little man’s arms. He looked so innocent like this, cheeks still red, mouth still kiss bitten into a soft smile. His hands holding at the front of Olivier’s hoodie, keeping it wrapped still over his shoulders and Olivier didn’t know how he was granted the divine grace of loving anything as much as he were allowed to love Antoine.

“ _We don’t have to, I was just being spoilt earlier_.” Olivier rushed to say, staving off the hope from coating his words as Greizmann shrugged one shoulder as though it was the simplest thought in the world, perhaps making Giroud happy was such a simple thought for him.

“ _You need this, mon amour. Now I see.”_ Antoine said, rising on his toes to kiss his lover, before he turned off to head towards the showers of the dressing room, Olivier watching after him with a full heart an disbelief at Antoine’s ability to understand wordlessly.

 


	4. Jordan

 

“Mate, you’re takin’ the piss with this guest list nonsense, like.” The bouncer said, and Jordan felt embarrassment flare at his cheeks, the logical part of his brain telling him that desperate was not a cute look and the security guards were definitely going to joke about him in the staffroom.

“I’ll have a word with Milner when I’m in, honest.” He said, watching the taller of the two roll his eyes beginning to pat him down.

Once he was inside the building he lost a bit of his courage, wondering if he could even go in and act aloof and cool like he loved it there. Christ, he didn’t even know if Adam would be there that night. But Milner had text him at work and said he had a shift tonight, so it wouldn’t be a totally wasted journey.

The club already seemed busier than the previous time he’d went, chatter audible as he made his way passed the cloakroom where a few men were stood and when he opened the doors to the main room he was surprised at how alive it was.

There were dancers walking around now, some sat on the laps of some blokes in booths, others just on podiums around the place and Jordan looked to the main stage which had all kinds of lights blearing over it. Jordan felt the air crash out of his lungs as he focused on the three guys dancing there. The lights low, the music dark and dirty and on the centre pole was Adam. The same Adam with the ripped jeans and the cheeky smile, swinging around in a black leather strapped harness allowing for his torso to be completely exposed. He span with ease as his smooth waxed legs bent poised and angled encouraging his turn around the pole. He was dancing under the largest spotlight, strong hands coiled around the metal bar as he bent his body backwards in a perfect arch that was seductive in all the ways it should have been illegal. And so suddenly Jordan was aware of exactly why people paid money to see this. It was hypnotic, the man’s long curling hair falling free over his face as the lights and excursion of his dance made sweat prickle on his hairline. He wasn’t wearing stockings as one of the other blokes on the stage was, instead he was wearing a suggestion of underwear, because there’s no way that whisper of fabric could have been called anything but. The fabric seemed to barely be covering him as the V of his muscles were exposed, his thighs strong and sturdy as he used them to anchor him to the pole as he moved around it.

Jordan couldn’t move, he was rooted to the floor, the desire that had been a dull beat in the back of his mind on his way to the club changing to a full on 42-piece orchestra playing out an ode to Adam’s smooth skin which shimmered under the bright lights above. People were throwing money on the stage and Adam leaned backwards, thighs holding him up as he gathered up money, every muscle in his torso flexing visible and Christ…

Henderson was most certainly out of his depth.

“Jord!” A voice called out and after Jordan didn’t respond straight away he felt a hand fall to his shoulder and he turned instantly at the intrusion to see James Milner beaming at him in greeting. “Back again aye? I tell ya, there’s something in the water in this place. Or is it just my bar tending skills? Guess we’ll never know! Come on let’s get you a drink!” James said, patting him on the back and letting his hand guide Jordan over to the bar who let himself be led dumbly.

“Mate yesterday I actually watched two blokes fuck on stage, I tell you what this job is mental.” Jordan wasn’t even listening to Milner, he couldn’t help but watch the stage as he passed through people who were all watching Adam who was now kneeling at the front of the stage. He was unbuckling the buckles of his harness, running his hands overs the hard plains of his chest. The song was slow and seductive, Adam’s body constantly moving to the beat even as he knelt with a blissed-out expression like he was the epitome of the lyrics blaring out above him.

Jordan would be the first to admit that he had never particularly been a sexual person, felt that overt provocation wasn’t necessary, and he still stood by that point, until Adam rose to his feet, arse out, back arched and body rolling as £20 notes rained over him from the front row.

And he kind of felt his morals fall head first out the window.

“Mate that’s mental.” Jordan said distantly as Milner started rambling off again about something Jordan couldn’t really hear. He eventually sat down on a bar stool, James going behind the bar and fixing Jordan an espresso martini and two shots of brightly coloured liquid. He insisted he was getting better at cocktails and his freshly prepared one was Jordan’s gift.

“And why have I gotta pay for a drink I didn’t ask for in the first place?” Jordan asked with a smirk, reaching for his wallet regardless, James shrugging like the prick he was.

“You owe me for showing you this place. You like it here ennit, so I did you a favour?”

“It’s a bit too full on for me, mind.” Jordan said, passing him a £20, James taking it with two fingers and raising an eyebrow. “You ain’t gettin’ anymore, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree entirely!”

“You’re too demanding for a bloke who isn’t a member.”

“Yeah well, I doubt I’ll be back after tonight anyway, so I’ll be out your hair.” Jordan said as the music stopped and applause rang out around the main room. He rose one of the waiting shots to his lips and downed it immediately as he tried to ignore every impulse within him that told him to look at the stage again, just to catch another glimpse of the dark-eyed dancer.

“Why’s that?” James asked brow furrowed.

“Cos I’m not splashing out four fuckin’ grand on a yearly membership just to come and sit around with a bunch of men with their kit off, thanks.”

“Ah! But you did look into a membership?” James asked, grin clearly ecstatic with exposing Jordan who just rolled his eyes downing the next shot and passing the empty glasses to his friend.

“Go and do some work will ya.” He tutted, James mock saluting him with a knowing look, despite him knowing absolutely fuck all. He soon left to go and serve some other men and Jordan sat staring at the pattern of the club’s logo in chocolate on top of his drink, fingers tapping the stem of the glass.

He kind of wanted to get blind drunk, kind of felt like throwing Harry (not Milner) £100 and saying, give me whatever this can get because everything was kind of fucked in his head anyway, so he might as well enjoy the buzz of the carousel ride he was on.

That’s what it felt like, all in all. A long winded, sickeningly quick carousel ride and it was spinning Jordan’s head so much he didn’t know where he was anymore. He’d met Adam once, in some fleeting conversation that the dark-haired man probably completely forgot about at this point, seeing how many blokes he would have seen since then, but Jordan was lying awake at night looking at Forum threads about obtaining a membership to the bitter tune of 4 grand and for what?

Jordan didn’t know what was more mental, the fact he was looking up for a club membership just on the off chance of Adam also being a member, so he could speak to him some more. It was slightly more acceptable now that Adam was actually a dancer and not just some random bloke Jordan was willing to blow thousands on. Christ, he should probably consider not coming back for his sanity alone.

“You found what you’re lookin’ for yet?” A familiar voice called out and Jordan turned his attention to it embarrassingly quick. Adam was stood, harness back in place, cheeks flushed from heat, but his smile was still present.

The carousel came to a grinding halt to let another person on for the ride.

“Thought I’d give it another go, reckon I’ll find it eventually.” He joked, taking a sip from his drink and completely hating how good it was because it meant he had to give credit in some way to Milner the dickhead.

“I think you stand a good chance.” They remained in silence for a few moments, Jordan kind of just staring at Adam in disbelief for a few moments.

“Fuckin’ hell wouldn’t have you as a dancer, like.” Jordan said, blowing hot-air out his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair, anything to distract him from the way Adam was stood, the leather of the tight harness shimmering under the lamp above them and clinging to his body giving the illusion of curves before straps span down the length of him ending by wrapping around his mid-thighs. Jordan liked a pretty boy, he always had. He liked long hair, full lips, undeniable charm and Adam was truly no different.

“Whys that?” Adam said leaning one arm on the empty seat next to Henderson and Jordan found himself following the lines of fabric baring his skin down to his sternum, biting his lip at the large tattoo stretching down the side of him.

“You just seemed so chill the other day, thought you were just a punter, like.”

“You caught me on a good day, you see normally I would have been grinding up your chair leg wearing a thong, in a pool of fivers.”

“Just mad ennit.” Jordan laughed back, hands rubbing over his face again as he tried to shake the need that started to claw like an insistent cat deep inside him. After all, it was Adam’s job to be this desirable. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t a normal encounter, that Adam was paid to be as pretty as possible, to be as sexy as he needed to be. It was his version of Jordan blowing a whistle to ruin some young kids fun time in a pool every day. It wasn’t real, despite the heat that radiated between them as Adam shifted on his feet to stand that little bit closer.

“Why’d you come back then?” He had the audacity to ask as he stood there wearing a bright grin, an innocent head tilt and not much else at all.

“What do you mean?”

“I just get the feeling you don’t really like it here. You look at the dancers like you’re uncomfortable, you sit hunched at the bar like you want the lights to come up and for the police to storm the place any minute.” Great, so turns out Jordan was stupidly easy to read compared to Adam’s closed fucking book. Again, that deduction skillset probably walked hand in hand with the amount of men Adam came across every night. “So, there must be a reason you came back?” He had an annoying hint of knowing to his look that reminded Jordan of Milner and he took a large gulp of his drink at the thought, following it with a shrug.

“My new year’s resolution was to break out of my comfort zone, to be spontaneous and all that.” He half-joked, mainly just to see the way Adam’s head ducked down, hair falling over his glistening forehead, resulting in a lithe hand pushing it behind his ear. Jordan didn’t write poetry, but he’d give it a good fucking go just from the way Adam’s hands looked under the warm glow of the low hanging lamps above them.

“How far you willing to go with breaking out of that then?” God there really was an undeniable static between them, one that felt too electrifying for it just to be part of a job. Adam was looking at his lips too much for that he was sure.

“Didn’t give myself a limit. Endless possibilities you see, the world’s my oyster.” Jordan felt his confidence grow slightly, Adam nodding with a flirtatious glint lighting up his eyes that Jordan couldn’t miss even if he wanted to.

“Why don’t you get a lapdance, really get that new year’s resolution off the ground running?”

“A lapdance?” Jordan laughed, mouth hanging open in a smile as Adam shrugged it off like he wasn’t paid to tempt men into a dark room and rut against them until he had enough money to pay for the next set of bespoke brief’s Jordan would want to rip off with his teeth.

“Yeah, Messi is our best at individual dances, the way he moves is hypnotic.” Adam adopted that playful edge to his voice, this time allowing one of his fingers to dance around the rim of Jordan’s glass. The movement was enough for Jordan’s mouth to dry instantly. “Hazard or Dybala is good if you want something pretty to look at, if you want a boy dressed in all pink and batting his lashes at you like a little innocent cherub.” Jordan followed the way the tip of Adam’s finger stroked at the stem of his glass.

“And what category would you fall into?” He asked, breath hitching as that sinful finger found its way to Jordan’s thumb, dancing lines up to his wrist.

“And well I’d suggest myself if you wanted the lap ride of your life.” Adam was a lot closer now, any innocence that was once between them completely bottoming out until Jordan threw every fuck inside him to the wind and listened to the voice in his head that he usually ignored. The one that urged him to go out and just do something that wasn’t him. That it fucking might be a bit of him if he at least tried.

“Sounds tempting that.” Jordan accepted the man who leaned into him, his hand finding the small of Adam’s back, fingers twitching against the bare flesh. Fuck he felt unreal, skin damp from the heat of the room, little finger teasing at the waistband of his underwear, soft as a whisper. He vaguely remembered the bouncers declaring any touching could result in a court case, but Adam definitely didn’t seem to be reaching for his alarm any time soon as he linked his hands to rest on Jordan’s shoulder closest to him.

“Put your money where your mouth is, Jord.” Adam looked up and his face was a breath away, dark eyes staring into his soul and Jordan was about 4 seconds away from giving the man his debit card and pin and having him take the fucking lot, just to see how much he could get. Him remembering his name had to count for something right?

“And where will you be puttin’ your mouth?” He said it quietly, quiet enough that it felt like they were the only two people alive and Adam’s preening sigh set Jordan’s hand stroking across the dip at the bottom of his back.

Adam seemed hesitant for a moment, a trait that had Jordan’s brow furrowing. It was so out of place with everything he’d grown to expect from the dancer, a lull in confidence that made Jordan want to pull his hand away and apologise but before he could say anything Adam was turning his attention away but not moving from his position in Jordan’s embrace.

“Kano!” Adam shouted, barman Harry turning to him with a nod of his head. “Two Singapore slings, extra shot of Gin in both, mate.” He winked, and Harry looked between Jordan and the dancer on his arm, his smile kind of tempting Jordan’s resolve to disappear a little more.

 Jordan wondered how many times Harry and Adam had been in this routine, how many Singapore Slings Harry had made for a client on the little man’s arm. The delicate bubble around him and Adam dissipating by the second and then he was back to looking into those dark eyes that sapped the light from the room entirely, and fuck resolve. Fuck anyone who’d been in this position first, Jordan was just thankful he’d even made it this far.

“Has anyone told you prices in this place? It’s quite a taboo subject to bring up. It’s just assumed if you’re here you can afford it, so transactions are never an issue.” Adam kept his gaze on Henderson, hands on his shoulder, fingers linked together as he propped himself between Jordan’s legs, whose two arms now encircled the man, both thumbs tracking up the straps at the back of Adam’s harness.

“You think I can’t afford ya, is that it?” Jordan mocked, Adam laughing coyly, moving so his hands were linked around the back of Jordan’s neck. It made their whole stance that little more intimate and it was becomingly increasingly aware how it was probably all just at the suggestion of a transaction, and like a slave to the system Jordan was becoming all the more likely to comply.

“It’s £250 for a private dance in one of our blue rooms, £300 for a red room.”

“What’s the difference of those then?”

“The difference is how much skin I let you see.” He let his eyes flick down to himself, Jordan following the movement and sneaking a glance at that tanned sternum that was begging for his tongue.

“Fuck me.”

“That privilege costs you £1000.”

“Are you a hooker, an all?” Jordan didn’t want to sound as surprised as he was and to Adam’s credit he seemed nonplussed just shrugged, thumb stroking at the hair at the nape of Jordan’s neck, a dizzying rhythm that had Henderson pulling him that little bit closer between his thighs.

Jordan from a few days ago would have probably been a little bit disgusted by the prospect of the bloke he was hitting on being a prostitute but that sadistic selfish side of him made him want to know more, want to hear all the filthy things the man in-between his legs got up to behind a closed door.

“I’m an escort. Most of the dancers here are. Territory of the job.”

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here, Adam.” Jordan said dropping his head down between them, Adam running his fingers through the blonde hair of the head presented to him. “Alright let’s say, I have unlimited amounts of money. That I’m some off-shore banker, laundering all my weekly pay in Guam somewhere.” Jordan continued head up, Adam’s laughter enough to make him drunk despite not yet touching the newly placed drinks Harry laid out on napkins, with a wink. “And I’m married with 2 kids I never see, because I’m always yachting with foreign escorts I picked up on a Brazilian coastline”

“I thought Neymar looked especially chirpy this morning.” Adam interrupted, the pair sharing another laugh. The lights went down again, another applause of to the side of the room that insinuated another dance on the main stage. Not that Jordan cared.

“I’ve just landed back in London, and my God I have an _insatiable_ appetite.”

“You’ve come to the right place, sir.” Adam quipped, Jordan trying to ignore the way that last word piqued his interest more than he’d care to admit.

“So, for the sake of arguing, what would I get from you for £1000 of my hard-earned cash?”

“Well, do you want to know what _I_ would give you or what the standard issue is?”

“Is there a difference with that then?” Jordan felt his cock stir in his jeans at that insinuation, Adam shrugging one shoulder, letting his hands drop down to brace against Jordan’s thighs. The touch had him letting out a stuttering breath that caught somewhere between them, Adam’s own breath rolling out warmly against Jordan’s slack mouth.

“Well for starters, most of the men who pay to fuck me don’t look like you do.”

“And how do I look?”

“Are you playing coy, Jordan?” Adam teased, darting out his tongue and licking a long stripe along Henderson’s jawline. He couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling, holding Adam impossibly closer so the smaller man’s full weight was leaning against him. It felt like another layer of heat pressing to his skin, and it was not surprising that Jordan’s cock was practically fully hard between his thighs. Adam could probably feel it, a part of him hoped he could.

“Humour me.” Jordan whispered breathlessly, turning his head into Adam’s so that their cheeks were touching, both their mouths at the other man’s ear, Adam’s fingers digging into the flesh of Jordan’s upper thighs, massaging.

“You know you’d be our favourite dancer if you worked here. Those blue eyes, your hard body. I bet your cock is big as well, people would go insane for you.” Adam breathed, tongue flicking over Jordan’s earlobe who couldn’t stop the shiver that left his body so fucking effected it was criminal.

“So, what’s the basic requirements of a fuck then?”

“A grand gets you protected sex, of any position. One soft-kink as long as its negotiated and consented to with myself prior to the session and/or foreplay if wanted.”

“And what would _I_ get?” Jordan asked, eyes closed as he focused on the heat of the man practically in his lap, Adam’s hips rolling in such ministrations it would be easily missed, but Jordan could _feel_ the hard bulge that would be impossible to hide in those briefs of his. But fuck, he couldn’t look now, he couldn’t burst whatever bubble they were trapped in, bodies impossibly tight together, words like mantras being spoken directly into their ears.

The words belonging to no one else but them.

“You really wanna spoil the surprise?”

“I can’t afford you, pal. So, give me somethin’ to dream about.” Jordan hated the begging edge to his voice, but he was too far gone for anything else.

“You’d get anything and everything you wanted.”

“Anything and everything.” Jordan repeated, head tilting back as Adam bit at the neck exposed to him, tongue soothing the nip until his lips kissed wetly at the same place. Each sensation sent a spark up Jordan’s spine who was coming apart in the smaller man’s hands. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but in less than a night he’d gone from prudish to willing to fuck the man over the bar in front of everyone.

“Yeah.” Adam’s deadpan certainty in his ear made something in Jordan’s stomach plummet and his mind was filled with an obscene slideshow of images of having the man in front of him laid out entirely, body pulled taut like strings of a violin and moans singing out a symphony. “You’d get every position we could possibly do, you’d get rimmin’, oral, hands, fists, fuckin’ anything! Anything you wanted, and I’d be game.”

“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t ya?” Jordan whispered, allowing himself the luxury of dropping a kiss to the soft flesh just behind Adam’s ear.

“A clothed dance in the main room here will only set you back £100 if a grand is too much of a stretch.” The twat teased, pressing against Jordan that little bit harder and gasping at the cock pressing into the straps of his harness. Jordan didn’t know what world he was living in where 6 straps of leather was considered too much clothing but here he was.

“Oh, that’s kind of ya.” He mocked, letting himself roll his hips off the bar stool just to have Adam push harder into the cock he was purposefully pressing against now. God, it was too much, Jordan needed more.

“What can I say, I’m an upstanding gentleman.”

“What would you wanna do to me?”

“I’ve been wondering how your arse tastes for about 80% of this conversation.” Adam’s hand found Jordan’s lower back, little finger teasing into the exposed waistband of his boxers and Jordan pulled back to look at the guy’s face.

He looked fucking gone, eyes under the dim light looking entirely black, cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

“Really making me contemplate spunkin’ my savings on gettin’ under this fuckin’ harness.”

“Sorry Sir, I hope you’re enjoying your evening here with us tonight, if you will excuse Lallana here for one moment.” A smartly dressed man interrupted then, all toothy smile and polite hand gestures.

It took both men a moment, both blinking out of the reverie of one another before Jordan was nodding, arms falling to his sides as Adam stepped from in-between his legs, adjusting his underwear as he went. Jordan watched on with how the pair interacted, how the man placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder that seemed reminiscent of a football coach more than it did a fuckin’ Pimp or whatever this bloke was.  Jordan could barely hear over his own heartbeat and the music above but he heard the vague gist of the conversation. _You’re getting too close. Calm it down now. Requested for a private dance_. _Red Room_.

Jordan hated how a flare of jealousy shot through him at the idea of Adam, still worked up from their conversation getting undressed for another man.

But the sadistic part of him found comfort in the fact that Adam maybe didn’t usually get as close to clients as he had done with Jordan if it resulted in his boss having to pull him away.

“I’ll be right there.” Adam said, waving a hand at his boss who nodded with a tight-lipped smile before disappearing from sight.

“Duty calls.” Jordan said, as Adam walked back to him slapping his hands down on his own thighs. Jordan nodded, reaching for his untouched drink and taking a large gulp, trying to will away the hard-on in his jeans and the flare of annoyance in his chest.

“It does indeed, reckon you’ll be around in half an hour?” Adam reached for his own drink, biting his lip as a hopeful edge to his words made Jordan hate the way he was second guessing everything.

“Depends, I’m kinda likin' the look of this Trippier bloke on the little stage and I’ve got a grand in my pocket just waiting to be spent.”

“Dickhead.” Adam chastised, but his expression was soft.

“But nah, I should probably get going, long shift tomorrow and I should consider not drinking after this if I intend to get through any of it at all.” Jordan didn’t know why he bowed his head, why he was even lying but Adam didn’t press simply nodded but looked slightly disappointed.

Jordan hoped anyway.

“Right, well enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Yeah, enjoy lapdancing.”

“See ya.” Adam laughed with a fond smile on his face. Jordan nodded with a withdrawn smile, waving a hand at the smaller man who just rolled his eyes at the gesture. He made to walk passed, dropping a kiss on Jordan’s cheek and then he was gone, leaving the blonde staring at his drink, heart hammering out a rhythm he wasn’t familiar with. It reminded him of University, and he hated how he was somehow more self-assured back then.

 


	5. Adam

 

Adam’s hands were still shaking as he made his way to the red rooms, Jordan’s cologne lingering on his skin as he tried to focus his mind.

Gareth’s words were echoing around him, annoyance rising at the thought of him letting himself get carried away, of letting himself get that far. Adam always thought of himself as a professional, managed to effortlessly separate the person he was at work with the person he was at home, so he couldn’t help but question why blue eyes and a slanting smile was completely derailing what he’d built for the last seven years.

He allowed himself to fall into the illusion of normalcy when he had initially met Jordan, walking into his shift half hour early and noticing a new face watching Alisson’s first dance of the night with wide eyes and a slack mouth. It had been amusing, looking at this man who was clearly gorgeous, look so out of his depth that it was practically a charitable offer when Adam took a seat next to him.

What he hadn’t expected from the gesture was soft eyes, body language exuding warmth despite being so desperate to keep himself cold. Adam found that Jordan was an enigma and when he saw him sat at the bar, staring at his cocktail glass well he couldn’t help but gravitating toward him.

He admitted to himself days ago that he was attracted to Jordan, was drawn to him even in those opening moments where Adam had been testing the waters of the blonde’s uncertainty and came away with glowing cheeks and a feeling in his stomach that reminded him of being 14 and fancying the Captain of the year 11 football team. That was the moment where the distractions from work began. The other lads noticed, made fun of him when he’d falter during practice, or throw him an exaggerated wide-eyed glance whenever he mis-stepped during a live routine and the build-up of frustration only added to the crush he wanted so desperately to separate himself from.

Jordan was well and truly under his skin and Adam completely lost his head when the possibility of something normal reared its head. Suddenly he wasn’t an Escort, throwing a flirtatious smile at a regular client who’d address him as Lallana and pay him up front before accepting his hand to one of the designated areas. He was Adam, he _felt_ like he was being Adam, even stood in one of his strappy harnesses and that thought was the most daunting of all because he was becoming increasingly aware of the effect Jordan had on him until he couldn’t even deny the full-blown crush he was feeling.

He resisted the urge to look back, warmth still spreading through his body and cock well and truly mad at him for the case of blue balls he had no choice but to rid himself of before his client. He sighed, shaking off the feeling and breathing through a fake smile as he winked at security about to go through to the dance rooms until he felt a hand on his back and he was so suddenly being guided away by Gareth.

He stumbled through one of the backstage doors, Adam allowing himself to be lead until Gareth slammed the door shut, the heavy weight of the fire door muffling the music slightly.

Nothing on God’s green earth could muffle the evident rage on his boss’ face however.

“Listen-“ Adam began just to be instantly cut off.

“There is no dance. I just needed to have a word.” Gareth said sternly, and Adam nodded, preparing himself for the conversation. “What the fuck are you playing at?” Adam wished he knew the answer even as he forced himself to look in Gareth’s eye, a habit he made sure to maintain throughout his career, never appear uncomfortable or fearful, always show them you have control of the situation.

“This isn’t just a night out with the lads, this is the safety of your colleagues! Any one may have looked over to see a punter with his hands all over you! How long is it until men are grabbing at the other boys here?” Adam instantly felt his stomach swoop low. Gareth was right, it couldn’t be one rule for him because they didn’t work in an environment where that shit could slide, this was serious stuff and if Jordan could rut his cock against Adam at the bar, then there’s nothing stopping one of the paying customers from doing the same to an unwilling performer.

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck and waiting for the rest of Gareth’s rant.

“Then I find out off security he isn’t even paying for the privilege? This isn’t bring your fucking boyfriend to work day, Lallana. There are rules here and you could have caused a shit storm back in there. I’ve had to ask Security here to be on high alert tonight in case anyone else fancies their chances!  The fact it was able to happen at all worries me!” Gareth was the angriest he’d ever seen him and that includes the time Ramos was caught trying to get his file from his desk draw without asking, but this, this was more than that.

Perhaps Gareth had expected it off Ramos, the out-spoken often feisty man who tended to play by his own rules. But the look on Gareth’s face wasn’t just him lashing out, it was him so utterly disappointed in Lallana and that stung more than any anger could.

“I’m sorry Gaz, I dunno what I was thinking.” He hated how his voice was quiet, but he didn’t have the strength to argue his case, it was all his own doing.

“Well I suggest you go home and have a long hard think about it.” That he didn’t expect, and Adam suddenly felt seething anger fill him up from his toes, his protestations cutting off his boss who raised his eyebrows somehow even more unimpressed.

“You can’t do this, I’m performing again tonight!” Adam barked out, throwing out his hand towards the door as Gareth shrugged casually, pointing towards the changing room like a teacher chastising a problem student.

“I guess you should have thought about that before giving blondie a freebie. Goodnight Adam, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.” And then he was gone, back through the club doors, the heat and music from the room washing over Adam in a wave until the door shut again leaving him alone in the hallway.

He got changed as quickly as possible, deciding to leave through the backstage way, exiting up the stairs and looking out at the streets that were still relatively busy, something he rarely saw after a shift. He let out a frustrated growl, lighting a fag and pulling his phone from his pocket as he made his way to the queue of taxis that parked up alongside the theatre down the main road.

He sent a text to Eric, demanding he call him as soon as he could. He couldn’t remember if Eric was on shift at the hospital or not, so instead he smoked through his whole cigarette before all but throwing himself into a cab which began in the direction of his flat after a mumbled conversation with the driver.

His phone started buzzing and he answered embarrassingly quick, body still thrumming with angry adrenaline.

“This better be quick, I’m currently about to blitz another season of The Big Bang Theory.”

“I hope that’s a joke.” It probably wasn’t, Eric wasn’t much of a funny guy anyway and Adam supposed that’s why he liked the worst show ever made.

“It is, but I still don’t have a lot of time. So, give me bullet-pointed drama please.” Eric said, and Adam couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his friend’s abruptness. He relayed the evening, from how normal his shift had started to the moment Jordan come in, to the conversation he and Gareth had had and right down to him being sent home. Eric hummed and said “yeah” in all the right places, and him not being the most talkative person was the reason why he was so great for ranting at.

“It’s utter bullshit mate!” Adam moaned, slouching in the back of the black cab as Eric sighed down the phone.

“To be fair, he had a point about the safety thing.” Adam rolled his eyes again, Eric was probably the worst person to call if he wanted a pity party in hind sight. He tended not to feel sympathy so well which was a startling trait to have as a doctor. Adam remembered mentioning that before, Eric sipping his pint with a smirk and a shrug. _I’m a pretty great actor,_ he had said, and Adam didn’t know if he was referring to pretending to care at work or pretending not to care with everything else. He had his suspicions mind. “Sending you home was harsh, but there’s nothing you can do now but think of one hell of an apology for tomorrow.”

“I could get fired over this.” Adam said quietly. He’d been thinking about it pretty much since he’d seen the flare of anger in Gareth’s eyes. He wouldn’t know what a life without stripping would entail. Working 40+ hours a week at what, WH Smith? And for what? A fifth of the cash?

“Fat chance, too many sleazy old men fancy ya for that.” Eric snorted, Adam watching the night-time streets of London pass him by as he sulked in the orange glow of the street lamps overhead.

“Wanna come mine and get drunk tonight?”

“I can’t mate, I’ve got plans.” Eric said, and Adam distinctly heard another voice in the background, the sound of something falling to the floor and then Dier’s muttering of an expletive in response.

“Dier, have you got someone round your flat?” He asked, frowning as he listened to the distinct sound of silence stretch on for a few more moments.

“No, piss off.” Eric said abruptly, Adam knowing full well he was lying as he heard the clattering of pots down the line of the phone. “Fine, I have ok?”

“About time, your poor balls were beginning to fossilize.” Lallana mocked, despite the flush of warmth that filled his chest at Eric’s confession. Eric’s closed off cautiousness when it came to meeting blokes reminded him instantly of how Jordan portrayed himself and Adam wondered if he was drawn to the type of people who were the exact opposite of himself.

“Shut the fuck up.” Eric snapped, the hint of a laugh behind his words even through his sigh.

“It’s that bloke isn’t it?” Adam couldn’t help but smile. Eric wasn’t a particularly open person, had been that way since they had met in University, so Adam felt like it was a milestone in itself the day Eric met him for cocktails and told him he had started seeing some bloke called Dele Alli after bumping into him at the gym, sending his toiletries flying like a god damn rom-com scene.

“Well I’ll leave you two to it, I expect full details tomorrow by the way. My social life is virtually none existent, so I need to live vicariously through you.” Eric laughed at that, a huff of a thing that Adam imagined set his cheeks into a blush all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“You’re getting squat in terms of details but let me know how it pans out with work. Thinkin’ of you bro.”

“You too, bye bye Dier.” He hung up after Eric muttered _bye bye Llama_ like he was embarrassed Dele might hear. Tough luck, Adam thought as he looked down at his phone. Dele would definitely have to get used to their bullshit if he wanted to remain a fixture in Eric’s life.

It wasn’t long until he pulled up to his flat in Kensington, paying the driver with some fivers from his show earlier that night and making his way through the security gate and the 24-hour reception. He appreciated his call to Eric, allowed him to not think about his day and be distracted by things normal people found themselves distracted by. He stared at the numbers in the lift, watching them flash by each passing floor as he tried to forget the way a strong hand felt against his back, or the way Jordan had kissed the skin behind his ear.

The doors opened then, and Adam found himself locking himself into his flat moments later, throwing down his bag and falling straight onto the sofa.

He threw his hands over his eyes and tried to zone out of his own head. He tried to think happy thoughts, like what Dier was attempting to cook for Dele, but he instead kept thinking about how everyone at work was reacting to him getting sent home? What was Gareth thinking of doing as punishment? What Jordan was thinking as he was pulled away from him?

He growled out, kicking his shoes off his feet and unzipping his jacket like a petulant child. He was so over being annoyed at something that was out of his control. Eric was right, he had to begrudgingly admit. He had to sleep it off and face the music tomorrow.

So he undressed, getting into bed and catching up on some episodes of a Netflix series he was falling behind on, checking his emails, chain-smoking up a storm and checking his Facebook.

His notifications were pretty dry. A candy crush request of his Auntie. A liked comment from something he’d tagged Kane in the day before. A birthday reminder for some person he hadn’t seen since college. And an accepted friend request from James Milner.

He clicked his profile, surprised to find he was married, unsurprised to see that he was quite popular with friend’s into over a thousand. And Adam practically felt the light-bulb flash over his head as he thought back to Kane speaking to him at the bar the day he had met Jordan.

_“Possible new recruit over there.” Kane had said, wiping down the bar and throwing his head towards the stage Alisson was on. Adam looked over, seeing a few older looking men and then a sheepish blonde sat on the outskirts looking like he wanted to disappear altogether._

_“He’s a pretty one.” He said around a swallow, watching the way the lights of the stage danced over his skin, the way his tongue poked out slightly at he raised the glass to his pink mouth._

_“He’s Milner’s mate, James had him on the guest list for the night so when I say he’s new I mean he didn’t even look like he knew what went on here.” Harry carried on and Adam turned back to him with a grin._

_“Fuck, should I go scare him a bit?”_

_“Yeah sure, scare’s the word you’re going for.” Harry had a knowing expression on his face that was a mix of amused and warning and Adam had walked over to Jordan before he asked Harry what he meant by that exactly._

He clicked on James’ friends, typing before he could stop himself, Adam staring at his laptop screen with a thumb and finger plucking at his bottom lip whilst he waited for the site to load his suggestion.

Turned out Milner had two friends called Jordan, one had the profile picture of a shitty looking car, and the other had a smiling blonde man in raybans. Adam felt himself swallow as he clicked on the profile. It loaded quick enough, Jordan Henderson’s page coming to life. He was quite surprised Jordan had social media, he seemed the type to prefer reading books or some shit instead, maybe one of those guys that would sit in Starbucks and turn his nose up at people who used emojis or Instagram. He had some Tarintino movie quote as his page header and nothing in terms of personal information at the top of the profile. Adam wasted no time in clicking on the profile picture and sitting back as it loaded up in all its high definition glory.

Jordan looked good, really fucking good, standing on a cliff in front of some beach scene spanning out below. He was smiling that charming smile Adam was familiar with at the camera, arms sun-kissed and bare as he wore material that could only be described as a suggestion of a tank top. His arms were slim but defined in their muscular appearance and Adam would take getting sacked if it meant he could find a way back between those arms.

He got caught up in the moment, clicking through the pictures with interest. The next was an awkward selfie of half of Jordan’s face, a small dog with his tongue hanging out his mouth sat beside him. It had 43 likes, one of them being Milner. The next photo made Adam chuckle, Jordan had used the snapchat filter with the golden butterflies as a crown on his head, the filter’s false eyelashes making his eyes look bluer as he pouted theatrically, the image captioned as _‘I deleted snapchat immediately after taking this’_. It had 52 reactions and one comment off a bloke called Trent saying ‘ _Good! One less notification to get from the likes of you’_.

Adam let himself observe through snippets of Jordan’s life. Seeing tagged photos of him on a night out, another of him with a group of lads next to a few jet-skis. Another selfie of him drinking from a takeaway cup, just his eyes and a snowy beanie on. Jordan seemed well travelled, he seemed to like animals, he seemed to have many friends and yet he hung onto Adam’s words like he meant something in this exceptional life.

Adam swallowed, wondering how someone who had so much going for him as Jordan did could possibly find anything to look for in Adam. He didn’t want to think that Jordan had come back to the club exclusively for Adam, but the signs were all there.

Lallana clicked on the message button in a moment of fleeting madness, fingers typing out one hundred things, before he deleted every word. Because what could he say? He didn’t have anything to say, it’s not like he could thank him for coming back to the club and letting him dry-hump him at the bar. It’s not like he could ask him to come back again. It’s not even like he could add him without looking completely mental.

Just then his phone rang, his stomach dropping. He didn’t know what he had expected, but Jesse’s name flashing on the screen bought him back to reality and he sighed accepting the call.

“Buzz me in?” Jesse asked in a sing-song voice, and Lallana frowned pulling his phone away from his ear to get a look at the time. It was 3:15 am, Jesse’s shift finishing quarter of an hour earlier. “I’ve got pizza.” It wasn’t unlike Jesse to come to Adam’s house. The first time had been a party with the work lot, after Jesse had only been part of the team for a few weeks. Back then he was tentative, and it didn’t take long in retrospect for him to open up and a few weeks later it was just him and Adam playing Call of Duty with spotify on in the background.

His visit tonight however had question marks floating around.

“Say no more.” Adam laughed, ending the call and making his way through his dark apartment. He reached the intercom, buzzing the door open downstairs and making to turn the lamps on in the living room. Just as he pulled two beers out the fridge he heard his door knock.

“How’d you know I wasn’t asleep?” Adam said, pulling open the door to Jesse presenting a large pizza box at him with an exaggerated grin. The younger lad come in, making straight for the kitchen and pulling out two plates from the cupboard.

“Cos Gareth had a briefing at the end of the night telling us not to get too close to customers.” Adam chose to ignore Jesse’s raised eyebrow at that as he took a seat on his couch, Jesse separating pizza slices for the two of them before crossing the room to Adam. “I assumed you might have something to do with it. Don’t think you’ve ever left a shift early in your life.”

“Fuck sake. Yeah I fucked up a bit.” Adam said rubbing the back of his neck, other thumb stroking at the label that was peeling from his beer bottle.

“Yeah, no shit, Gaz is foaming!” Jesse said, blowing a laugh out his lips as he placed the plate in front of Adam on the coffee table, dropping down in the armchair opposite and beginning to talk through a mouthful of stuffed crust. “What happened then?”

“I lost my head? I dunno, this bloke has come in a few times and he’s…” He paused looking for a word to sum it up.

“Fit?” Jesse offered allowing Adam a genuine smile as he nodded with a pout and a gulp at his beer, wishing it was stronger.

“Yeah but, different. He’s different.” He settled on, deciding it was better not to go down the road of trying to summarise a man he barely knew.

“How’d you know that though? How’d you know you’re not just lookin’ at someone and thinkin’ they’re fit?” Jesse said, and Adam couldn’t help but notice the weight behind the words, and so suddenly it felt like they were having two separate conversations, Jesse’s eyes wide and waiting, pizza slice bending as it remained frozen in front of his mouth.

“Because when you see fit blokes every day like we do, we can tell when it’s deeper than that. When there’s somethin’ there you can’t put your finger on. Kinda feels like an itch ennit, but if you scratch it, it gets worse but if you leave it, it stings.” He finished off his beer in one large gulp depositing it on the table and reaching for his pizza, hoping to eat away the little girl feelings he thought he was above having.

Jesse looked like he was having the same thought, the two just sat in silence getting through a few slices each before Jesse spoke up again.

“You spoke to this bloke about it?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”  Adam admitted with a sad smile. He felt like he was going mental, tried to think of a moment in his career where he felt so lost. For the first time in a long time he was questioning his choices. Perhaps because he couldn’t just flirt with Jordan without it coming across like a transaction and he couldn’t just have him in his arms without it resulting in a shit storm. There was no normalcy to any of it and besides, what kind of bloke in their right mind would want to see Adam outside of work knowing he could just fuck him for a fee and then move on to something else. Someone with less baggage and less of a stigma.

“Well here’s to complicated matters of the heart, fam.” Jesse laughed, rising his beer bottle, Adam lifting his remaining Pizza slice in place of his own finished drink.

“Should I ask?” Adam said with a titled head as Jesse finished off his own bottle, putting his plate down and reclining back with a drawn-out sigh.

“Nah, just comfort eat the rest of this with me, so I don’t feel as bad for indulging on pure carbs.”

“If you ever did want me to ask you could you know.” Adam said, Jesse fixing him with a look that made him look younger than 19 somehow.

“Can I stay here tonight?”  He pulled a mocking pout and Adam tutted at his attempt to tug Adams heart strings. They were way passed that anyway.

“Of course.”

They spent a little while longer talking about work and nothing else in particular before Adam went to his en-suite for a shower. He hoped the heat of the water would rid him of the ache in his muscles and the heavy feeling that settled inside him, after a while and with just his muscles easing slightly he shut off the water, drying and pulling on some clean boxers.

When he came into the room Jesse was already in the bed, hands behind his head and Adam’s laptop closed and placed on the desk by the wardrobe. Adam climbed into the other-side of the bed shutting off the beside lamp and shifting into comfort within the soft grey sheets. They settled for a few moments in silence, the moonlight outside stretching shadows across the room through the clumsily drawn curtains as the lull of London’s night time traffic interrupted the quiet every now and then.

“Is the bloke you’re on about Jordan Henderson?” Jesse asked quietly, and Adam turned to look at him in the dark, eyes adjusting to see Jesse facing him, arm folded underneath his pillow as he made a face. “Don’t worry I’m not a psychic, just noticed you perving on his social media when I moved your Mac.” Adam snorted at that. He was definitely a 16-year-old girl as now he had even adopted the subtlety of one.

“Yeah that’s him.” He toyed with his fingers on his chest, mind back on Jordan as he considered what could have happened had Gareth not noticed them, had they been tucked away in some corner somewhere or better yet entirely alone.

“He’s fit to be fair, you should message him.” Jesse said like it was that simple.

“I’ll message him the day you message the guy you’re so clearly pining over.” Adam snorted rolling over to face Jesse who was looking back at him, face screwed up at the nail Lallana clearly just hit right on the head.

“Touché.” He said with a knowing smile until slumber caught up with them both, perhaps their last thoughts of the day surrounding two others who were sleeping unaware somewhere out in the world that fell into black.

 


	6. Jesse

Jesse woke up with a stretch and a yawn, the blearing of Adam’s alarm sounding out until the older man slapped it into silence with a groan. It was 6am and Jesse hated himself for waking so early on his only day off a week.

“You in work today?” Adam grumbled into the pillow, one eye open and hair mussed in every which direction.

“Nah man, got a cheeky day off.” He attempted a slight dance, but soon gave up as his body yearned for more sleep. Adam’s low rumble of a laugh coming from the pillow.

“Prick.” Adam mumbled, throwing a lazy hand out beside him that hit Jesse in his bare chest, who just chuckled too tired to retaliate. “Thanks for last night, I needed a friend and I’m too pussy to admit it sometimes.” Jesse looked at him and Adam was blinking his eyes awake, a soft smile on his lips and Jesse thought he looked about his age whenever he woke up.

“You’re a pussy all the time, so no change there then.”

“I gotta get up, you can stay here if you wanna just lock the door on your way out. I trust you won’t steal anything cos all you do every day is tell me how much better your shit is compared to mine.”

“My shit is better than yours, but yours is still better than most.” Jesse said, swinging his legs off the bed and wiggling his toes into the soft faux fur rug that greeted him. “Nah it’s cool though, I should probably go for a jog and get rid of that cheesy crust from last night.” He continued, slapping his abs as Adam groaned from the en-suite, light trailing in through the open door.

“Fuck. I’m gonna have to train hard today. I blame you entirely.” He said, tap running as Jesse rose to his feet running his hands over his hair and reaching for his clothes folded on the desk chair.

“That was the plan, bossman.” He said getting dressed to the tune of Adam’s morning routine.

~*~

Jesse enjoyed jogging, enjoyed the way the cool morning air filled his lungs, easing the burn from the work out and upping his heart rate. He enjoyed the way his feet felt on the pavement, the way the streets were relatively empty at 6am allowing him complete peace. Also allowed him to listen to Abba without being paranoid anyone could hear his headphones. He was just running along the Thames back towards London Bridge when his phone beeped signalling a text.

 **Rashy:**  
_Lemme guess, ur busy today?_ _Xx_ 🤦

 **J-Lingz** :  
_imagine how stink u must feel now cos its my day off xx_ 🤔

 **Rashy** :  
_imagine acc tellin ur boy wen u had a day off tho xx_ 🙄

 **J-Lingz** :  
_dont be a wasteman xx_ 😂 😂 😂 _  
__my yard at 12 for a fifa sesh_? _xx_  


When Rashford replied with a simple thumb up and three kisses, Jesse couldn’t help but smile continuing his run back to his flat with the promise of seeing Marcus carrying him along the way. Adam’s words seemed to fit too easily into Jesse’s life and he knew that that was what Adam was going for, he always managed to have about 4 conversations at once and was so aware of those around him that it shouldn’t have kept surprising Lingard and yet it did.

By the time he’d showered and changed, it was half 11 and decided to flick through his phone. Replying to the group chat and glowering at a particularly disturbing meme sent in by Paul Pogba. He clicked on his work group chat. The name of the chat had recently been through a renaming war during Maguire and Stone’s back and forth one night that had Jesse’s phone vibrating into a frenzy. Turned out the chat was still called _#GarethsAngels #JohnStonesMomHasGotItGoingOn #Justice4Slabhead._

It was one of those chats that shouldn’t blow up on the daily as much as it did considering they spent so much time together but all it would take would be an unflattering selfie from Stones or a zoomed in photo of Coutinho courtesy of Dybala from across the room and they’d all reply throughout the day.

Jesse sent a photo of himself to the chat, lounging against his plush sofa cushions and smiling with his eyes closed.

_Have fun in work ladsss_

It took one scroll through Instagram and then another quick look at his chat with Rashford before he got a few replies back.

**Olivier Girude-boy:  
** _Enjoy! Back to the grind tomorrow :P x_

**My Mom is fit:  
** _Hope u choke on ur mornin coffee_

**Lets Get Messi:  
** _That’ll be me tomorro m8!_

The intercom buzzed, and it should have been embarrassing how quickly he leaped up, straightening down the front of his new Nike hoodie, pressing the button and immediately donning a fake posh accent.

“Name please.”

“It’s your boy Rashy.” Marcus said in the same jokey voice, an in-joke that Jesse couldn’t remember starting but it became so engrained in their daily life that it probably didn’t matter where it came from. They both burst out laughing, Jesse buzzing him until his door rasped with some obnoxious knocking pattern than had him immediately rolling his eyes as he yanked at the door.

“Fam, you’ll never guess what.” Marcus said by way of greeting, walking passed Lingard and heading straight for his fridge. Jesse tutted shutting the door behind them and making his way back over to the sofa to load up Fifa.

“You finally discovered what a shower is?” He joked, just to hear Rashford let out a mocking laugh from his position with his head buried in the fridge. He was soon kicking it shut, orange juice carton in one hand and unopened packet of cheese-strings in the other. Jesse snorted as Marcus booted him playfully as he sat down on the leather couch, unloading his food onto the coffee table.

“It’s mental man, you’ll never guess.” He said, raising his eyebrows at Lingard who was passing him a controller, eyes on the screen and navigating his way through the menu. They soon settled into sorting out their teams, Jesse going for United as Marcus chose Barcelona.

“Tell me then Dickhead.” Jesse said, tapping at the buttons of his pad and trying not to short-circuit every time their knees knocked on accident.

“Dele’s gay, you know.” Of all the things in the world Jesse had anticipated being told that was 100% the last thing he expected. He felt lead settle in his stomach, sinking lower and lower like an anchor under to murky seabed.

“What?” His voice was a little choked. He missed a sitter and didn’t feel any of the rage he would usually feel, he just sat uncomfortably numb as Marcus made a humming noise beside him.

“Yeah, he’s got a fella. He told us last night.” The feeling of shock ebbed away to be taken over by betrayal at him not being sat down and told. He then had to deal with the feeling of shame that washed over him like a wave. He should have been there for Dele.

 “You were workin’ ennit.” Marcus said like he knew what he was thinking, and Jesse just swallowed.

“Shit. Is this Legit then?”

“Yeah man, we’re meeting his bloke some point next week. You should be there, support and that.” Marcus said, and he was right. Jesse couldn’t let work take precedence over that, Dele just made the most ballsy move he’d probably make for the rest of his life and he needed to support that. To take note from that bravery. Because that’s what it was, it was brave to come out and Jesse was still so deep in closet he was eating Turkish Delight with the Ice Queen.

“And you don’t mind?” He asked selfishly, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he anticipated having to fight back tears, or not to punch something or not to throw up.

“Nah man.” Relief flooded him. “It’s not like he’s tryin’ to fuck me is it.” Marcus laughed, and the relief didn’t last long. All Jesse could do was stare at the television, mind working on auto-pilot as he carried on playing. He stared until his eyes went out of focus and Marcus celebrated Lingard’s lapse in concentration. “You’re gettin’ shit at Fifa, you are.” He said bumping their shoulders together and then not moving. Jesse wanted to move away, to put all the space in the world between them, for however long it would take him to get over the feeling that felt like butterflies behind his ribcage whenever he’d see his best friend. Instead he stayed put, like a sadist, knowing full well this was the closest they’d ever be.  And he’d have to get used to it. No time like the present.

“What did Dele say then? When he came out?”

“Standard stuff really, was worried we’d not wanna be his mate and that but fair play he told us he wouldn’t give a fuck what we thought anyway. But I dunno never had someone come out to me before so it was new shit ennit.” Marcus’ voice was level, like he was being mature about the situation and Jesse had to admit he was. He was taking it well. Because Dele didn’t want Marcus.

“That’s mad.” Jesse said distantly. “You don’t have a problem with it do ya?” The sadistic part of his mind spoke for him and Marcus’ shook his head quickly beside him.

Relief came in small amounts.

“Nah man, Dele is still Dele, plus his new man is a doctor so Dele is gonna be getting p!” He joked, and Jesse couldn’t even bring himself to force a smile. “Not as much as you though, cos you’re making cocktails for James Bond or some shit. Making a fancy sex of the beach for the Queen and that piffting Pippa Middleton.” Now that did have him smiling, Jesse subbing off one of his players that Marcus nearly clattered into an injury.

“You chat gas man, Megan Markle is the piffting now” He said, not exactly lying. He wasn’t blind.

“Nah man, I was a changed man when I saw Pippa’s arse.” Rashford laughed “I wonder if Dele fancies Prince Harry ya know.” The randomness of the question was what had Jesse pausing the game to point at his friend as if to say _who the hell is this guy next to me._

“Why the fuck would he fancy Prince Harry?” Jesse cackled, falling back on his sofa in hysterics as Marcus turned on him with a glower and justification thick on his tongue.

“Nah I beg you listen man, Prince Harry’s all right, he’s got that bad boy thing.” Marcus said, and Jesse’s laughter subsided as he tilted his head, waggling his eyebrows mockingly as Rashford just shook his head with a snort at his friend’s stupidity.

“So, you’re telling me you’d like bad boys?”

“I reckon I would ya know, I reckon I’d go for a rough and ready type of guy.” He said, Jesse sitting up and continuing on with the game, anything at all to ignore the beat that skipped in his pulse at that coming out of Rashford’s mouth. “What would you go for?” Marcus asked quietly, the only sound Jesse could hear was his frantically increasing heartbeat over the stabbing of buttons and the Fifa commentary from his large TV.

“Never thought about it really.” Jesse replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as unconvincing as he was sure it did.

“Nah, if ya had to.” Rashy pushed, voice still quiet as he bit his lip in concentration.

“Dunno, reckon I’d like some athletic type ennit.” He felt his cheeks flare, like he just admitted to everything when in fact he’d hardly said anything, but Marcus was nodding, expression unreadable.

“A David Beckham kinda bloke?”

“Yeah maybe.” Jesse said, trying to stop the feeling of being burned under a magnifying glass as Marcus unknowingly cut him open and had a good fucking look around.

“You reckon you’d like muscles and that?” Marcus persisted, and his voice was low almost inaudible under the commentary and Jesse was trying his hardest to focus on the TV, desperate to not give anything away with a look or a misplaced word.  He was on thin ice and Marcus was across the lake with a sledge hammer, the cracks showing beneath Jesse’s feet who was just waiting for the plunge into the unknown.

“Probably, ain’t that the point though? Like you’d want the complete opposite of a girl.” Jesse said, because that’s pretty much how simple it is.

“Do you reckon anal feels good?” Jesse hated the stirring he felt beneath his sweatpants at just the insinuation of it and he had to swallow around the persistent lump in his throat that was proving harder than he thought possible.

“Ask Dele man.” He said quietly, not even happy that he scored during the 92nd minute of the game. Rashford didn’t even complain, seemed distracted by their conversation too.

“Nah he’d think I’m being funny and that, but I’m just wonderin’” His raw honesty bled into his words and Jesse fought down every thought in his mind that wanted to talk in depth about anal with the boy beside him.

“Well, man’s G-spot is in the bum ennit.” Short and sweet as replies go but Jesse was glad of the distraction when Marcus turned to him with wide eyes despite his team losing and the game ending on the widescreen across from him.

“Is it?”

“Oh my days, Rashy you are thick!” Jesse howled, Marcus cackling along with him until they were both back against the sofa, gasping for air from a laughing fit that came out of virtually nowhere, perhaps Jesse was just laughing through the awkwardness of it all, from the rush of the conversation’s change of pace, from Dele’s confession.

“Do you reckon Dele knew back in school?” Marcus asked after the laughter died down.

“Dunno man.” Jesse admitted truthfully because if he was honest, he didn’t know. Had never suspected anything when they used to hang out as kids, he was pretty sure Dele had had more girlfriends than all of their squad combined so he couldn’t begin to even think where Dele got the balls to come out before he even did. He supposed it had something to do with this Doctor bloke.

“Reckon he kissed any of the lads at school?”

“Probably, we was kissin’ girls and that ennit.” He had indeed been kissing girls, just to stave off the feeling that kept creeping back into his gut until one day he stopped kissing all together, just thinking maybe that was easier whilst he was still at school where everything felt like the end of the world as it was.

“Yeah I suppose. I wonder what it’s like to kiss a bloke, Jess.” Marcus said, and Jesse allowed himself to look to his friend’s eyes then. He wasn’t looking back into Jesse’s instead he was just looking at his face, expression unreadable as he just kind of watched him like he was noticing things he hadn’t before, Jesse instantly felt the breath in his lungs drain from him at the proximity of the two and the idea that Rashford could be reading him from the outside in.

“I have ennit, year 11 spin the bottle at prom. Got dared to kiss Danny Rose.” He wanted to say it as a joke, but neither smiled, Marcus just nodding dumbly as they looked at one another.

“Ah shit, I remember that. What was it like?”

 _Good. Amazing. As right as kissing someone else could possibly be_.

“Ok. He chose to say instead. “Same as kissin’ a girl really. Nothin’ that much different from it. It’s not like some life alterin’ thing.” He joked despite the fact it had been, it had pretty much been the moment he was certain he was gay. When he pulled away, stomach swooping low as Danny pulled back with his eyes shut and mouth still shiny with Jesse’s spit. And then Rose was laughing, clapping Jesse on the back and turning towards the circle who were cheering and giggling. Jesse remembered the shame that flared up inside him and the way Marcus left to go toilet missing his turn.

“Mad ennit, how people work and that.” Marcus’ voice was so distant it almost didn’t belong to him and then he was looking at Jesse’s eyes again and Lingard took the opportunity to observe the colour, how it was nearly as dark as his pupils.

“Fam, this is well deep for an afternoon chat.”

“You’re the only one I can talk to like this. You don’t judge, and you listen.” He sounded so sincere that Jesse couldn’t help but roll his head back towards him from his brief look away to the TV, their shoulders were pressed together now without much thought of his behalf, Marcus shifting so his leg was bumping against Jesse’s.

“It’s what best mates are for.” Lingard said in a whisper, his voice catching in his throat and he closed his eyes hoping to pull himself from the situation that was making his head spin and his palms sweat. He felt Marcus’ thigh press against the length of his own, it was just a fraction of a shift, but Jesse was so hyper aware of the movement that he had to physically count down from 10 in his head, eyes closed shut.

9\. Marcus swallowed audibly from beside him.

8\. Breath rolled out warm against his cheek, sending his entire body into goose-bumps and his heart pounding out a slow and dull rhythm like it was going to stop any moment.

7\. Marcus cleared his throat.  
  
6\. Rashford shifted again, little finger prodding a fold in the crook of the knee in Jesse’s sweat-pants.  
  
5\. Jesse let his own little finger stretch out from its position on his knee, breath hitching as it stroked against the pulse point of Rashford’s wrist.  
  
4\. He let his finger flutter over the soft skin, focusing on the pounding beneath the flesh, and the way Marcus’ breath sped up like he didn’t expect the touch.  
  
3\. Marcus didn’t move away.  
  
2\. Neither did Jesse.  
  
Jesse’s phone buzzed on the coffee table sending the two repelling apart, Jesse’s eyes snapping open as he lunged for it, throwing himself to his feet and answering without checking to see who was calling.

“Should I be happy that you answered my call so quickly?” Harry Maguire said, humour in his voice and Jesse found himself laughing, back to Rashford. “Seriously, I’m honoured. But I’m sadly taken.”

“Fuck off Slab-head, what’s up?” He said, voice shaking despite every effort inside to slow his breathing.

“Just wondered if you were up for a beauty sesh tonight, wanted to brush up on our tans seeing as we did so well yesterday. Adam is alive and breathing after seeing Gaz by the way! He’s with me now, said he’s up for a salon date if you are?” God he could have kissed Harry in that moment for giving him something to do that didn’t involve reading a situation completely wrong with the one man in the world who he truly cared for.

“Yeah sure, I’ll meet you guys there. What time?” Marcus rose to his feet behind him and Jesse just focused on the world outside the window that seemed to still be turning after all.

“We’re gonna go for a cheeky nandos like its 2014 first and then we will get there for about 6.” Maguire continued even though Jesse was so aware of movement behind him, awkward shifting that seemed so out of place from a friendship of over 10 years.

“After a Nandos? Thought you were tryin to look better not bloated?”

“Try and stop me eating, pal. See you at 6.” He hung up and turned back to Rashford who had his hands in his pockets, Jesse slapping his palm with his phone, hoping Marcus wouldn’t notice his hands shaking so much.

“That was some mates, want me to go for a gym sesh tonight.”

“Yeah sound, I should probably get goin’ anyway. Got shit to do and that.” Marcus said, throwing a thumb towards the door as they stared at one another for a few moments. There were barely a few feet between them and yet Jesse had never felt so far removed from the boy. He didn’t want to question everything that had just happened, wanted to put it down to banter or the weight of Dele’s confession.

“Right well, erm. Let me know about when we’re meeting Dele’s sort.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood as he walked Rashford across the room to the door who nodded as he went.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” With the door opened Rashford turned to him, another silence settling over them as he kicked the toe of his Jordan’s against the threshold. “See ya later, Jess.”  Marcus was the one who lifted his arms for a hug and Jesse probably moved too quickly into the embrace, pressing his face into Marcus’ neck just happy that Rashford wasn’t freaking out like he was. He breathed him in, the scent of his cologne, the faint smell of sweat and most prominently the smell that was so unequivocally Marcus. Jesse probably clung onto the hug a little longer than he should have, pulling away, with a step back back and slapping Rashford’s shoulder. Marcus offered him a fist bump before disappearing down the hallway, leaving Jesse slamming his door shut and hitting his forehead off the wood with an exaggerated moan, wondering when seeing Rashford became somehow worse than when he didn’t see him at all.

 


	7. Antoine

 

Antoine enjoyed watching the rain, it reminded him of home. When he’d be a child and he’d sit with his sisters and enjoy hot tea that their Grandmother would make them on the stove. It had been those moments of his life that he took for granted.  When he’d be surrounded by family in a veil of innocence and safety that kept him comfortable. Now, he sat alone on the bench in the bay window, back against the glass and feet tucked under himself. The drink in his mug was warming his hands, as the soft drip, drip, drip of the rain soothed his thoughts.

It was a lonely life moving to another country, he still got flustered whilst shopping, where he wouldn’t be able to read certain labels, or he’d struggle to understand some of the thicker accents clients spoke with and it felt really isolating.

He had moved with Olivier, 20 years old and head-over-heels in love. Olivier had been down on his luck, walking down the streets of Saone Et Loire and waiting for a passer-by.

_The music in Griezmann’s car was blurring as he slapped his hands on the steering wheel, wind screen wipers swishing away the rain that couldn’t damper his mood. And that was when he saw a figure hunched and saturated at the side of the road. He’d pulled over, winding his window down and watching as two piercing blue eyes looked up at him._

_He felt his breath hitch_.

It had been a wild ride of a summer once they had first met, the one reserved for best-selling novels and teenage dreams. Antoine would find himself sneaking out of the house he shared with his parents and sisters late at night, climbing down the ivy that wound up the side to the balcony that lead to the upstairs hallway. Olivier was always waiting for him outside the iron gates, Antoine laughing into his hand as he attempted to run down the gravel driveway in silence.

Giroud would greet him, Antoine jumping into his arms, mouths latching and legs around the older man’s waist who would hold him close and kiss him as the mid-summer night’s humidity had their skin shimmering and their bodies heating the longer they stayed in each other’s arms.

Antoine was a hopeless romantic, perhaps it would eventually be his biggest downfall, but he saw beauty in everything. Would spend hours trailing through the gardens back home, watching bees track between flowers, listening to bird song from beneath the shade of an oak tree. Would paint the sunlight as it danced across the river surface in hues of gold and orange. And Olivier had been right there with him, ankles crossed over one another as he had a book open on his chest, cap over his face as he dozed in the heat of the days that felt a lifetime away now.

Olivier was still that man. The man that stayed with Antoine through the rough parts of confessing his sexuality to his family. He stayed with Antoine when Monsuier Griezmann had left a bruise underneath his son’s eye, Olivier sprinting across town when he had heard, turning up to the house breathless and alert.

Antoine had met him at the door, blood still drying on his split lip, bruise swelling the skin of his cheekbone and suitcase in hand. Of course, it wasn’t that simple as to just leave. Giroud had barged his way into the house muffled angry retorts in the background as Antoine stayed in the doorway, willing himself away and staring out at the gates of the childhood home he was no longer welcome in. Olivier just took him by the hand and guided him to a life he promised would be theirs.

He’d kept that promise. Despite their lives taking so many turns, they had a home. They had food, clothes, friends, everything and more than Antoine could have hoped for back in France. He was accepted here.

Loved without reservation or expectation and maybe it was that simple after all.

Antoine stretched his legs out on the bench, rubbing at the pattern of the knitted blanket as he got lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. It had been a few days since him and Olivier put on the private show and they had yet to speak about it. Olivier had tried, but Antoine couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he still felt a bitter rage sitting deep in his chest whenever he thought back to watching Olivier kiss another man.

He felt the hard pull of jealousy inside him accompanied by the whip of hurt that he’d started to grow accustom to over the days.

He heard a key in the front door and the padding of familiar footsteps that told him Giroud was home. The man simply stood in the threshold, looking out of place in his own home and Antoine sighed at that.

“I’m ready to talk now.” He said with a hopeful smile as Olivier nodded dumbly, dropping his gym bag to the floor and approaching him like a nervous dog.

“Ok.” Olivier said softly, pulling up the leather foot pouffe and sitting down, fixing Antoine with a patient look.

“When I said yes to the show, it’s because I trusted you, you know?” He hated how he was speaking so quietly, hated feeling so vulnerable. “I thought that we would be in it together and I didn’t think it would involve anyone else.”

He’d spoken to Gareth, even at the fleeting possibility that something could have been done but Gareth fixed him with a sad expression, an apology in his eye the day after their talk when he had simply said Hathaway apologised, paid the fine for touching a dancer and will continue his membership scot-free. Turns out money has a way of talking, a way of making someone invincible and it only seemed to make it worse that Hathaway was such a powerful man.

Olivier was watching him with a sadness in his eyes, but to his credit he didn’t interrupt, he waited for Antoine to say what he needed to say. Griezmann sighed and looked down at the cooling tea in his hands, seeking out a distraction.

“I’m sorry for what happened on my part, perhaps I too crossed a line. But I’m sorry Oli, you crossed the line further.” That was about as much sense as he could make of it and Olivier instantly jumped to defend himself.

“You think I would have wanted to kiss him?” He threw a hand out beside him to emphasize his point, soon pausing to take a breath at the look of _I knew you’d fly off the handle_ on Antoine’s face. “I didn’t cheat on you, Ant.”

“Then why does it feel like you may as well have?” He put his cup to the side of him, much too aware that his hands were beginning to shake. It wasn’t unfair to say and yet it felt it as Olivier looked like he’d been slapped, back straight and mouth trapped around words that didn’t come. After what felt like an age of silence, Giroud let out a taxed laugh.

“You green-lighted the whole thing. You sucked his fuckin’ thumb! Why am I the one being villainised here?”

“Because I had to watch you kiss someone else? You kissed him Oli, how long is it until you decide you want more? What you gonna do next, go out and fuck someone? Tell me where is the line now?” Antoine’s voice grew in volume until it was echoing around the space of their home, Olivier rising to his feet and shaking his head as he paced.

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion! This was just a shit thing that happened at work, we’ve spoken to our boss and we sadly haven’t got the justice we wanted but we have moved on from that! We should move on from that!”

“I don’t think I can!” Antoine admitted sadly, shrugging through the silence that followed his words and trying to focus on his breathing and not crying as his nose tingled with the foreboding of tears. “I don’t think I can get passed this Olivier. I can forgive you, but I can’t forget this.” Olivier had his hands on his hips, nodding despite clearly not agreeing. “I knew when I first met you that our relationship wasn’t going to be conventional, but you stopped escorting the day I met you and you accepted that I couldn’t handle that in a relationship.”

“I didn’t want to carry on once I met you! Did you think I did it because I had a choice? Meeting you was the moment my life turned around and I’ve never given you any reason to doubt that!”

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.” He rose to his feet then, Olivier looking at him with his tongue in his cheek.

“One guy kisses me, that you physically see and suddenly it’s like I’m fuckin’ several men a night? I didn’t do this behind your back Ant, I didn’t sneak around, I didn’t fuck anyone or catch feelings, someone kissed me and in the moment, I was having with you and I stupidly kissed him back.”

“Exactly! That was the moment you were having with me!” Following his boyfriend through the house who had began to walk away from him.

“You didn’t share that sentiment with his thumb down your throat!” He hollered back still moving through the living room.

“Typical Olivier! Shying away from any of the fuckin’ blame!” Antoine called out following hot on his boyfriend’s heels who turned to him angrily, pointing in his face through his rage and stopping him in his tracks.

“You think I don’t blame myself for what happened every single day? You don’t think I don’t regret accepting that money off a cunt like him?” The harshness of the swear felt weighted against Olivier’s broken English, Antoine stunned into silence. “ _I regret it so much it makes me want to crawl out my skin, watching your face fall as you watch me kiss him over and over in my mind is my punishment and it breaks my fuckin’ heart_!” To his credit, he looked pained, face flushed and eyes shimmering so much that Antoine had to look away, determined not to break his resolve on this. “ _I would rather die a thousand times then ever have you in a situation like the one I was in before we met!_ _Don’t tell me I’m shying away from blame! I put you in a position where this whole mess could happen when I’m supposed to protect you! I have accepted full blame for this, and the guilt is eating away at me!_ ”

Antoine didn’t know what to say, he had nothing to say in response of that, so he just turned away, retreating to the window and wrapping himself up in one of the knitted blankets. He shut his eyes, feeling tears prickle behind his eyelids as he listened to Giroud’s footsteps and then they were heading down the hallway, front door opening and shutting leaving Antoine alone and feeling like he hadn’t sorted anything out at all.

He wanted the fighting between them to stop, to just go back to normal but every time he attempted to make the effort that Olivier was putting in, he kept telling himself that Olivier was doing it out of guilt, that perhaps he would be just as twisted with bitterness if he wasn’t so fucking guilty.

He hated the betraying thoughts that haunted him that Olivier could well be staying with him out of guilt alone to the kindness he had showed him on the day they met.

_“So.” Antoine said, with a tight-smile trying to hedge a conversation out of the guy on the passenger seat who was warming his hands on the heater between them. “What were you doin’ so far away from the towns round here?”_

_“I got kicked out my last ride.” The man seemed sheepish and Antoine simply nodded. He dared to sneak glances towards him, noting the tightness of his jeans and the thin t-shirt he was wearing. It was low at the front and it made him look colder than he must have already been with the chill from the falling rain._

_“Shit, sorry to hear that. Can I ask why? Are you a creepy serial killer?”_

_“Only on weekends.” The guy joked, and Antoine laughed at that, enjoying the easing of the tension around them as the guy seemed to relax into the seat hands drawn into his lap as he watched the scenery pass them by in a blur of green and grey. “I’m… Well I’m a prostitute.”_

_“Right.” Antoine said, expecting perhaps everything under the sun but that. After a few moments of considered silence he cleared his throat. “Do you like coffee?” He indicated towards smaller road off the highway, fully expecting the look that was fixed on him._

_“Did you hear me?” The man said quietly, and Antoine shrugged nonchalantly._

_“Yeah, I did, why do prostitutes not drink coffee?” He let himself glance at the man, found that his face seemed softer, the worry lines at the side of his mouth flattened and the raise of his eyebrow made his eyes look brighter somehow._

_“This one does.”_

_“Why don’t we get some then?” Antoine asked, tilting his head to look at the man beside him who’s expression was a mix of confused and relieved._

_It was a rather interesting blend._

_The small café was one that Antoine was familiar with, it was the one he’d usually stop off at the way home from university and it might not have been the nicest place in France, but it made amazing coffee and with the chill in the air and the chance to speak to a stranger in such desperate need of something he found what better way to get to know someone._

_Turns out the man’s name was Olivier, and he was a little older than Antoine himself. It was nice to know as they sat in a small booth by the window, Antoine busying himself with pouring sugar and cream into his coffee as Olivier just sipped at his black. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes long and dark and Ant would be lying if he said his breath didn’t hitch a little as Olivier let out a happy sigh and flickered his eyes open with a smile._

_“You’re right. This is good coffee.”  Antoine shrugged, pleased with himself as he leaned back against the soft seat._

_“You’ll notice I’m right pretty often.” He grinned then, enjoying the way Olivier rolled his eyes, elbows on the table and cup still in his hands._

_“You’re so sure of yourself.”_

_“I’d like to think so.” He answered confidently. “I try to be as honest with myself as I am to those around me. Sometimes gets me into trouble, people say I have a big mouth, but I think honesty is all we have in the end.” Olivier had a winning smile, one that should have been reserved for magazine pages instead of dark alleyways but he smiled like he was in the glossy print outs anyway._

_“Well said. So, how pathetic am I coming across Mr Honest?” He quirked an eyebrow that had Antoine making a mocking face._

_“Very. But I’m pretty sure there’s a story somewhere.” He had a gulp of his coffee as Giroud echoed his body language, leaning back in the booth and getting himself more comfortable._

_“Came from a pretty normal family, not rich or poor, just the perfect in-between.” That he hadn’t expected, perhaps he’d had a perception of street life that Giroud was managing to quash with every passing minute. “Lost my mother when I was a teenager, father started drinking. Father started getting aggressive, so I left and with no money I got involved with the wrong people. Typical story, sorry I’ve never been too creative.”_

_“I come from a rich family. I do Fine Art at college; my parents hate it. They wanted me to go into medicine or something. But I’m quite the hopeless romantic.” He said by way of response and Olivier fixed him with a look and a smile that was tempting in all the ways it was genuine._

_“We’re quite different, you and I.”_

_“It’s a myth that there’s a person exactly like you out there. Everyone is so vastly different, you’ll find even your soulmate will be so alarmingly different to you.” Antoine laughed, finishing off his coffee and feeling his body heat as Olivier let his eyes focus on the movements of the smaller man._

_“I think you’re right.”_

_When they got back in the car they started talking some more and as the minutes went on Olivier started opening up. He spoke so honestly about his past, about why he was in the position he was that it shouldn’t have surprised Antoine when he agreed to Ant taking him to the hospital for a health check-up concerning his sexual habits._

_Giroud had joked, saying he was a good Samaritan but really it was what any person would do. He just couldn’t let Giroud out in the inner city, to walk roads with no coat and no hope for what to do or where to go next. What sort of person would he be if he let that happen? So, he offered to pay for a hotel room for him for the night, just so he could get a good night’s rest before starting the new chapter Antoine truly wanted for him._

_And he did want it for him, so badly. This man didn’t belong on the streets, selling himself to get by. He was funny, attentive and it only helped that he was handsome too. Not that Antoine was focusing on that too much, he didn’t have enough time in the day to ponder that thought for too long._

_The hospital wasn’t a quick process, in fact it was hours long of Antione sat in a waiting room, sending his mother and some of his friend’s messages to busy himself. He didn’t tell anyone about the mysterious Olivier however, didn’t really know what to say about it._

_He didn’t know what time it was when he felt a touch on his cheek and he snapped awake, sitting upright to see Olivier smiling down at him._

_“Sleeping beauty, is it?” He joked, and Antoine looked around the empty waiting area, rising to his feet with a yawn and a glance down at the papers in Olivier’s hand._

_He didn’t want to pry too much about what was on the pages but judging by Olivier’s smile he doubted it was bad._

_“Thank you, Antoine for your kindness and patience. I never believed in second chances. Assumed I’d made my bed and that was me done for.” Olivier said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the results given to him as they made their ways out of the hospital. He only had to wait for one more result, the rest were clear and at least Antoine could sleep easy at night knowing he didn’t just let someone walk around in the world not taking care of themselves or anyone else._

_One person was better than no people._

_“Just promise me you take this opportunity to be safe and find what you’re looking for.” Antoine said, the pair stepping out from under the entrance awning and heading across to where Ant had parked up. He jingled his key in his hand, knowing this was where they said goodbye and he’d let the man walk off to wherever he intended to be._

_Why that was such a hard thing to accept was another thing that took him by surprise._

_He looked to Giroud then, the taller man snorting out laughter._

_“This is crazy.” He said, running a hand through his hair, rain drops trickling down his face and Antoine didn’t know why they were both laughing but they were. They were stood in the rain in the middle of a Hospital parking lot, toe-to-toe and Antoine felt the most alive he’d ever felt. “But what if you’re looking for something and you recognise it instantly. Should I ignore it Antoine?” His voice was tentative, like he didn’t really know what he was saying but every word struck like a plucked chord at Antoine and he swallowed around the lump that had developed in his throat._

_“This is your second chance remember, I don’t think you have time to let things pass you by.” Antoine smiled and expected the moment the man in front of him held him closer and rushed to meet his lips with a kiss._

It was late when Antoine heard the key in the front door. He was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers toying with the bedsheet wrapped around him.

He didn’t expect Olivier to come straight to the bedroom but soon enough the door was opening and artificial light from the hallway was seeping into the room around him. He watched as his boyfriend undressed approaching the bed and pulling back the covers on his side, letting the silence wash over them.

“I’m so sorry, _petit ange_.” He whispered them, and Antoine was so sick of feeling like everything built between them was coming to an end from a fight.

“ _Do you still believe in soul-mates_?” Antoine asked rolling over to face the man who looked ethereal in the darkness, street lights from outside casting him in an orange glow. He was such a beautiful man, had always been a beautiful man and Antoine felt a little lost at the idea from time to time that he managed to keep someone like him. Without Olivier looking for something more in someone else.

“How could I not?” Olivier said simply, letting his fingers run through Antoine’s hair who was leaning into the touch. “ _I met you and I knew instantly_.”

He didn’t know what else to say to that, so instead he shifted closer to his boyfriend, burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in, accepting the arms that encircled him. He let out a sigh nothing short of blissful as he lay in the arms of Giroud, skin pressed against skin all the way down to his toes.

Tomorrow after all was a new day.

 


	8. Jordan

 

“Hello, I’m calling to enquire about a membership.” Would go down in history as the single most stupid words Jordan had ever uttered in his life. He was pacing around his living room, Hulk pyjama trousers hanging low on his hips as he toed at one of his dog’s chew toys.

“Good morning Sir, that sounds like an excellent decision. What is it that you’d like to know about concerning the membership?” He wondered if it was too late to hang up or not.

“How to get one?” He sounded stupid, he sounded unsure and that’s because he was both of those things.

“Amazing sir. With obtaining a membership it only requires a few steps on your part. We tend to take on members who are already affiliated with a man who is already a member here of South of Heaven. We then require you to fill out a standard form, including your card details where we will take your fee from at an annual date of your choosing. No payment will be taken until you have gotten through our security process. This is where we screen a background check on you making sure you have no past criminal offenses and the like. You will then receive an email or a phone call from our club manager to confirm your placement. You will then be given a key-card with your unique membership number on it, you can either get this sent to your billing address or you can pick it up from the offices here at the club. This allows you to set up a tab at our bar as well as entry to your own locker area within the cloakroom.”

“Right, sounds thorough.” He joked. Fucking hell. Jordan was well and truly falling head first into the rabbit hole. He had come to the conclusion pretty fucking quickly that Adam Lallana was just not the type of guy he could stop thinking about easily. Because whenever he tried, something would come back to him in screaming technicolour. He’d be at work and he’d see someone pass to the diving board and it would remind him of the way Adam’s skin looked under the lights of the stage. He’d be sat in his car and the radio would be playing a song that he’s sure was playing in the background one of the times they spoke.

Adam was well and truly taking up residence in his sanity and after considering what the fuck else he was going to spend his savings on he threw all his fucks to the wind and found himself dialling the number from the club’s website’s homepage.

“We assure you sir that safety, comfort and discretion is of the utmost importance here.”

“How much are memberships?” He was pacing in his living room, watching Kenny’s ears twitch from where he was sleeping on the back of the sofa underneath the window. He looked to the clock on the wall, much to aware his parents were coming to visit that afternoon and was already dreading the idea.

He loved his parents, he really did but their by weekly visits always distilled panic in him. It was just a replay of their greatest hits, his mother’s favourite being _when are you going to settle down with someone, Jord_?

“We have 4 tier memberships here. Bronze allows for unlimited entry to the club. Silver allows for unlimited entry plus a position in the VIP area around the stages. Gold allows for entry, VIP area, and bar credit up to £1000. Platinum allows, entry, VIP area access and unlimited drinks from the bar within reason.”

“How much would the bronze one be?” He didn’t want to sound cheap, but he didn’t want to sound overly interested in any other membership that he’d probably be awkward enough to accidentally talk himself into.

“Bronze membership would be £4000 annually.”

“Can I cancel at any time?” He rushed to ask, much too aware that if he’d read the situation entirely wrong between him and Adam that he couldn’t exactly return to the place, every corner of the main room reminding him of dark eyes and strong thighs.

“Most certainly Sir, we allow free cancellation at any time. Though we firmly stand by how satisfied you will be with the amenities here.” The man said with a chuckle behind his words and Jordan nodded, hand on his hip.

“I’d like to request a bronze membership please.” There it was, it was practically set in stone. He’d said it out-loud and his mind was clearly made up enough to get to this position, so who was he to deny himself of his own desires? He’d spent too many years doing that.

“Excellent choice sir. I just need your preferred way of communication, we highly suggestion e-mail as it allows for our records to be organized safely and securely.”

“And your name sir.”

“Jordan Henderson.” He said, feeling rather exposed in the fact that he could no longer hide behind some veil of anonymity, his name would be there, in some database somewhere reserved for old pervs.

“Wonderful and which member are you familiar with here at South of Heaven?” Oh fuck, he’d forgotten about that part. Could he lie? Make up a random name and just hope they were a member? Would knowing James be enough?

“He’s not really a member, he’s a barman he introduced me to the place. James Milner?” He cringed when he said it, wondering if Milner would appreciate being outted as the bloke that drags other blokes to gay clubs.

“Jordan! No way! It’s Harry, Harry Kane!” Jordan didn’t know why that made his cheeks flare, why it made his stomach swoop a bit as he heard the barman laugh down the phone. “So, turns out you did like what you saw here then?”

“Oh shit, hey. Yeah I guess it looks that way.” He admitted, face scrunched up in embarrassment.

“Wonderful, well I’ll e-mail you the rest of the information and if you just fill it out as soon as possible that would be great! Right mate, I’ll see you soon.” Harry instantly dropped his customer-service voice, Jordan smiling despite himself at that. Maybe he was building more relationships at South of Heaven than he thought he was.

“Sick one, cheers Harry!” He hung up, dropping his phone on the armchair and sighing out loud.

That was such a huge commitment, but whenever he even attempted to talk himself out of spending the money his mind flashed to images of Adam flinging himself round a pole, skin on fire and eyes dark.

Yeah, what else was he saving for?

He got in the shower, feeling the water wash over him. He groaned at the feeling, muscles easing under the fall. He felt himself getting hard as his mind through back to damp skin, fingers teasing down the stem of his glass. The suggestion of more in every movement they made, the promise of more when Adam sunk his teeth into Jordan’s neck.

He wrapped his hand around himself, dropping his head down and squeezing his eyes shut, hand tugging slow and teasing over his dick. He remembered the night Adam was stood between his thighs, all masculine energy and long eyelashes. He sped up the rhythm a bit, much too aware that he wasn’t going to last. How could he? He’d been practically semi since the day he met Adam and no amount of wanking under his bedsheets at night, or in his shower seemed to be doing any good.

He bit his lip at the familiar warmth that settled low and deep, wrist quickening and heart echoing its rhythm until he was moaning aloud, coming over the tiles of his shower and standing loose-limbed underneath the shower of water that washed over him.

Adam was driving him mental, driving him purely insane and it needed to be addressed. 4 grand be actually dammed.

By the time he was washed and dressed, he heard the doorbell go, Kenny barking up a storm from the living room.

“Honey!” His mother held her arms up, enveloping him as usual before his dad filed in behind her with a smile and a shake of Jordan’s hand. As traditional as always of course.

“There’s drinks out on the patio, so go straight through.” Jordan called as he shut the front door, hearing Kenny instantly wake up and attack his Mum with his excitement as she spoke to him in that baby voice everyone tended to adopt when seeing a small dog.

Jordan growing up had been a Mummy’s boy through and through, remembered vividly how close they were during his youth, waning ever so slightly during his adolescence and rekindling during his University years.

She didn’t know everything about him, he hadn’t quite disclosed his sexuality to her or his father and couldn’t imagine being in a position in his life where he could tell them. In honesty, he was still figuring it out himself.

For a while he didn’t think he was interested in girls or boys and then he felt himself attracted to both. It wasn’t until startlingly late in his life he was becoming ok with sex taking forefront in his mind and it was a certain dancer that was to blame for that change to his mentality.

Jordan and his parents sat underneath the table umbrella casting the table in shade, Jordan pulled his chair out slightly, enjoying the heat of the sun rays on his skin as his family settled with their drinks and compliments about his garden which he was definitely proud of.

“How’s everything going, Jordan?” His mother asked. She had an effortless grace about her, all short blonde hair and pastel coloured clothes as she tipped her cocktail back with manicured hands.

“Fine yeah, nothing of interest to report. Still just truckin’ along.” He was busy scratching Kenny behind the ears in hopes to school his face, his mother most likely observing him to try and diffuse his facial expression in case anything had changed since their last visit.

The thing being, everything had changed since their last meeting. Jordan had never felt so unsure yet entirely assured in his life and the blend of emotion was enough to have him as confused as the question ‘ _how are you_?’ made him feel now.

“Are you happy, baby?” His Mum asked after several moments of him staring at his dog, who was lying on his back on Jordan’s lap, tongue out his mouth in the summer sun. Perhaps his mother had a way of peeking around the walls of defence he’d put up.

She lifted her hand, fingers stroking down his cheek which he felt instantly heat at the contact.

“Yes Mum, I’m happy.” Jordan said, ducking away from her hand and smiling as she tsked him, reaching for her drink again.

“Jen is moving in with Mark!” His father announced, sipping the beer Jordan had left out for him, much too aware his Father was rather traditional when it came to pretty drinks and whether a man should drink them or not.

“No way! When?” He asked conversationally.

“They’re picking up the keys on Tuesday!” Jordan nodded along, trying to stave his thoughts from circling around Adam which they tended to do sporadically throughout the day and to instead focus on the news of his sister and her husband’s new venture in life.

“Aw, that’s mint that!” He said, counting down the seconds in his head.

“You met anyone yet?” Boom.

“Oh, here we go.”

“So, I’m not supposed to take interest in my only son’s love life?” His mother said all in mocking defence despite Jordan knowing she fully took offence.

“No, not this much interest.”

“You’ve got this lovely house, this beautifully tended garden and no one to share it with.” She pouted, head resting on the back of her hand as Jordan watched himself roll his eyes in her sunglasses.

“That’s not true! Kenny is here with me. Not to mention Bill in his cage upstairs. Plus Kenny loves shittin’ all over my efforts in this garden.” He said to be a dick, his mother fixing him with a look that told him full well she knew him well enough to see through his behaviour. Probably could tell he was hiding something if she kept looking. He breathed a sigh of relief when she sighed with a shake of her head.

“You’re being deliberately obtuse now.”

“I’m perfectly happy being alone.” He whined, much too aware that his parents knew his whining voice if their joint eyeroll was anything to go by.

“Leave the boy alone Lisa, he’s worked hard to get all this. Let him go through the motions at his own pace.” His dad finally spoke up, giving him a wink over the table.

“Thank you!”

“It would just be nice to see you married before I die.” His mother exclaimed dramatically, Jordan all but throwing his head back dramatically. God,a he hoped the subject would change and fast.

“Lovely thought, that!”

“I’m just saying, I’m not getting any younger and neither are you!”

The visit went on as it usually did, mainly just his mother bitching about Karen at work and his father making small-talk about the cricket. They bid their goodbyes at around 6 o’clock, leaving Jordan to go about his usual evening routine with the peace and quiet he very much enjoyed. He cooked with the kitchen radio on low, dancing to the music as he dished up a plate of Stir-fry for himself and a little plate for Kenny who was sat at his feet, looking up at him with wide wet eyes.

“It’s too hot at the minute, so don’t go mental.” Jordan chastised tapping his dog lightly on the nose who licked his finger tip. He took his dish into the living area once Kenny’s was cool enough to place on his food mat. Jordan knew full well Ken would wolf it down and then come sit patiently by his feet in hopes he’ll get the scraps of his too.

Fat chance to that.

He’d ignored his social media all day, not really having a minute where he could just scroll through at his own leisure so as soon as he sat down on his sofa, bowl of noodles in hand and The Voice on the telly, he took his phone out his pocket.

He had the usual likes for an Instagram post of Kenny on the patio from his parent’s visit, had a few comments from his mates about it. He had a few spam emails and the email from Harry with the next stages of his registration process.

He clicked on Facebook then.

Jordan frowned at the friend request staring up at him until his eyes blurred and his heart thudded out a rhythm in his chest.

_Adam Lallana has requested to be your friend. Confirm or Delete._

 


	9. Adam

 

Adam span around the pole, arching his back and attempting to tuck his leg under the other leg. He faltered in the move nearly crashing to the floor as he cursed out loud. It wasn’t his fault, it was a particularly hard move even if Salah made it look like he could do it in his sleep. He let himself drop to the floor, breathless and staring up at the ceiling.

He was probably over-working himself since his near-fire experience with Gareth and the boss had certainly noticed the shift in Adam’s working behaviour. He was extra flirty, extra attentive and most importantly extra careful of boundaries.

Not that they came into play whatsoever if the customer wasn’t Jordan, but if he at least looked like he was making an active effort than Southgate would be pleased. Jordan hadn’t been back to the club since however.

He pulled his phone towards him from where he had left his hoodie and fags, scrolling through his notifications until his face blanched and he sat up so quickly he felt stars burst in front of his eyes.

 _Jordan Henderson has accepted your friend request_.

Accepted? Jordan? Friend requ- Adam looked up instantly at the culprit, because who fucking else could it be? Jesse was stood at the bar talking animatedly to Kane as his headphone’s hit his chest at every movement he made.

Adam instantly rose to his feet, hopping down from the stage and approaching Jesse who had the cheek to look happy at his arrival. His expression soon shifted when Adam gripped his arm tight, all but dragging him to another section of the club where no eaves could be dropped from those practicing around.

“Care to explain what this is?” He unlocked his phone, turning the notifications on Jesse who had the nerve to look unfazed, pouting as he nodded with slow deliberation.

“Ay, nice one mate knew you wasn’t a pussy!” Jesse said, face slipping into a shit-eating smirk that Adam couldn’t quite believe.

“Did you ever think maybe there was a reason I hadn’t added him?” His voice was strained and Jesse definitely noticed, he fixed him with a serious look for a second, eyes flicking over his face perhaps in recognizing the genuine annoyance he felt.

“Ads, you’re too hard on yourself. You’re letting life pass you by. Live a little, he’s the first guy you’ve been crazy about in a long time. Go with it.” He began walking away with a pleased little smirk on his face and Adam just let out a taxed laugh in response.

“You had no right interfering like this.”

“Fuck sake fam, chill. I just gave you a little nudge, you’re the one that put most of the graft in. Don’t let me take all the credit.” And with a wink, he was picking up his gym back and leaving. Adam was just stood staring at where he had left and ignoring the looks Harry was shooting him from behind the bar.

His phone buzzed in his palm then.

 **Jordan Henderson** :  
_Gotta admit, I didn’t expect to see a friend request off you haha lol_

Adam felt something flare in his chest that felt an awful lot like warmth and as he stared at the little photo of Jordan smiling in the chat window. He found himself typing before he could fully anticipate what he was doing. Gareth would have his balls in his desk drawer for communicating with a client online. For communicating with a client at all outside of what was acceptable in the club. In particular, for this client who acted like a magnet drawing Adam to him.

For all he knew, Jordan could be an elaborate stalker, and could find all the other performers on Adam’s friend’s list and distribute their personal details for a price on some creepy forum somewhere.

Adam frowned at his phone, knowing full well that that couldn’t have been the case, especially since Jesse had made it look like Adam was the stalker.

Wonderful.

 **Adam Lallana** :  
_Didn’t wanna look like a stalker haha but guess I kinda do now huh_

He noticed how Jordan read it straight away and that feeling seemed to multiply at the thought that somewhere in London Jordan was looking down at his phone-screen too.

Awaiting Adam’s words.

 **Jordan Henderson** :  
_Its good to talk without feelin like im wastin ur time haha_

He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt a little giddy at that. Glad that Jordan wanted to talk to him, for some completely indiscernible reason. He was still annoyed at Jesse, despite smiling down at his phone as the other lads began to pack up their things before the club was set to open for punters.

 **Adam Lallana** :  
_There are worse ways I could waste my time_

 **Jordan Henderson** :  
_I’d like to hear the good ways sometime_ x

Adam was officially a little girl, if the way the kiss at the end of that sentence made his head spin was anything to go by.

 **Adam Lallana** :  
_I’ll hold you to that, Hendo x_

Adam was walking and texting, feeling rather like Eric who seemed permanently attached to his phone since meeting his soul-mate or whatever he was referring to the bloke as now. Despite the jealousy he felt every time his best friend would talk about him, he was happy. The lumbering oaf deserved to find happiness outside of extra chicken nuggets in his Mcdonald’s order or an hour long nap during his break at the hospital.

 **Jordan Henderson** :  
_haha! Hendo! No way, my mates call me hendo x_

He picked up his things from the stage, smiling down at his phone and wondering who the first person was to call Jordan that. Was it a family thing? Did his friend’s in primary school start it? Was it just something his London friends said, and it stuck? It struck Adam how he wanted to know the trivial things about the blonde, he wanted to know about the mundane and the boring. Because every inch of those things made up Jordan Henderson and he felt rather like a puzzle that Adam was only getting given one miss-matching piece at a time.

 **Adam Lallana** :  
_Does that mean I’m a mate now? X_

He stuffed his coat into his bag, zipping it up and throwing it on his shoulder as he headed towards the exit, glad to his core that he’d booked the evening off for a much-needed drink and to be the attender of the ‘ _save Dier from my boyfriend’s scary friends’_ party.

 **Jordan Henderson** :  
_You’re on the right track haha x_

And Adam was smiling as he walked out into the streets with a spring in his step that was entirely unlike him and utterly embarrassing to say the least.

 **Adam Lallana** :  
_I’ll take that!_ _😉 x_

 


	10. Jesse

 

“Dele has been pure talkin’ this geezer up, if he’s got dead banter I’m splittin’ them up.” Marcus was saying as they made their way from the tube station to meet their friends. Jesse felt nerves bundled tight in the pit of his stomach as he flicked his cigarette end, the pair weaving their way passed people as they chatted easily.

Marcus hadn’t mentioned whatever weird thing happened between them that day in his apartment, so Jesse chose to mention it. Not like he’d know what to say even if he did mention it. It probably wasn’t even a moment, he probably misread Rashford’s humour as something entirely different than what it was and that thought alone had him biting his tongue.

It didn’t help that Marcus looked so good, he was wearing a varsity type jacket, the sleeves silver and the body of the coat red, he was wearing a long-line t-shirt and black skinny jeans that really emphasised how lanky he was.

But he looked so good and it was so annoying.

Jesse tried to keep his eyes away, instead choosing to watch his Yeezy’s as they walked the streets.

“Nah if he’s Dele’s man he must be alright.” He mused, flicking his cigarette end away and watching as Marcus nodded, hands in his pockets. It was almost like he wanted to say something, like there was a wedge between them somehow and Jesse was instantly torn.

On one hand he hated the limbo of it, wanted nothing more than to forget it ever happened and for the pair to go back to normal, but the sadistic side of him wanted Rashy’s breath on his neck, rising goose-bumps to his skin again.

The lads were already there when they arrived, Alex standing up and waving the pair over with a wide grin and two drinks already sat down. There were another two drinks on the edge of the table, and Jesse was aware then that Dele and his fella hadn’t turned up yet.

“Fuckin’ hell! Jess isn’t dead?” Paul mocked, hand to his heart as Lingard rolled his eyes half expecting a fuss to be kicked up about his lack of a social life since he’d started working at the club.

Paul Pogba was the oldest of their friends, they had met him through Alex’s older brother and it seemed to be one of those things where Paul just ended up coming out with the lads without Mark and soon enough he was in the fold. Jess liked him from the start, despite the way he tended to be the rowdiest when they drank and always seemed the first one to start shit on a night out.

“Fuckin’ hell, Pogba’s banter is still dead?” Jesse replied to a chorus of jeers from his friends and a particularly warming fist bump from Rashford, shoulders brushing for a delightful second before the pair took their seats around the table.

“Reckon it’ll be weird?” Paul asked, Jesse shrugging and wanting nothing more than for the conversation to end as soon as it started. Through their introductory small-talk, they were clearly anticipating the meaning of the get together and the breaking of its silence felt far too quick and Jesse didn’t have enough time to prepare himself as he just swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Doubt it, no different to when Alex introduced us to Perrie.” But it was different, to Jesse anyway. He knew his friends were all understanding but Dele had dropped this out of seemingly nowhere and it was different. Alex had always fancied girls so meeting a girlfriend didn’t feel like a huge thing. Jesse couldn’t help but think if he’d ever even tell his friends or not.

Just then he heard a familiar shout and they all looked over to see Dele waving at them with a large grin, another bloke hot on his heels.

“Alright fellas. This is Eric.” Dele said when he approached, voice quiet as he held Eric’s hand. Jesse couldn’t take his eyes from where their bodies met, how effortless it was. How comfortable Dele seemed at the otherwise so simple gesture. Jesse let his eyes look around the bar. No one was looking, no one was gearing up to fight the gay boys, the world was still spinning, and Jesse’s heart was thudding at the realization that maybe being gay was acceptable outside of the walls of South of Heaven after all.

Eric seemed shy as he looked out at the table, cheeks instantly flaming as he awaited a greeting from the group of men who would seem 100% not the type to necessarily be on board with their relationship. “Eric this is, Paul, Alex, Marcus and Jesse.” Dele continued gesturing around to everyone who sat with a reserved way about them. Jesse couldn’t help but look around at his friends, gaging their reactions. Gaging Marcus’ in particular who seemed to be staring at their conjoined hands.

Jesse felt his heart sink a few inches at that.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you boys. Dele’s mentioned you a lot” Eric said, taking a seat on the stool opposite Paul, Dele sitting beside him, hands still clasped between them. Dele’s thumb was stroking up the side of Eric’s perhaps showcasing the nervousness that Eric seemed pretty good at hiding if it were the case. Eric talked like he was from a well-off background, sat like he was at a dinner table in a country club and Jesse hoped that was the only reason as to why Paul was looking at him with a tilted head and a vacant expression.

“So Eric, Dell said you’re a doctor?” Alex broke the silence that settled over the table, smiling at the man who let out a nervous laugh, Dele staring at his boyfriend with a little smile playing on his lips. It was strange, Jesse had never seen him look at one of his girlfriend’s like that and he suddenly felt like a shit friend for never noticing that this was the sort of person Dele was meant to be with.

That Dele was meant to be with a man.

“Yeah, it’s not as flashy and cool as they make it look on the telly. But it pays.” Eric bless him, seemed to be holding up well. Even as the lads eyed his and Dele’s closeness. The more Jesse looked at his friends he noted it wasn’t necessarily with disgust, more intrigue. Perhaps them trying to pin-point the moment it all clicked for Dele too.

Lingard had grown up with a certain idea of what a gay man was. Throughout school when he realised that he wasn’t into girls he wondered when the moment would come where he’d start listening to Musical numbers and wearing feather boas. When the moment didn’t come, and he didn’t change he thought perhaps he wasn’t gay enough and wouldn’t belong in the gay community anyway. So, he felt like he was stuck in some kind of limbo, where he was an outsider and the world was passing by without him.

But seeing Dele so effortlessly casual with his sexuality without a single thing about his persona changing, Jesse thought maybe he wasn’t broken after all.

“Eric had a few years placement in Portugal during his studies!” Dele said, his boyfriend’s cheeks instantly flaring as he scratched at his temple with a modest shrug.

“Ah that’s sick man!” Rashford said, genuinely looking interested as Eric turned towards him and started telling him an anecdote about his time abroad. Dele looked completely smitten, nodding enthusiastically and laughing when no-one else did. Not because they didn’t find Eric’s jokes funny, just that Eric didn’t seem to be _making_ jokes, despite Dele laughing in the right places anyway.

Jesse realised after a while that the feeling he had deep in his chest was jealousy. He wanted this, he wanted to sit with his friends and introduce a boyfriend who was the other part of him. Laughing along and getting this person involved in his life.

Eric wasn’t so bad, he was quiet and slightly abrupt, but he seemed to talk to Dele entirely different than the rest of the group and Jesse picked up on it every time. He’d go from chilled conversation with Alex about music to twisting to face Dele, the pair in secret hysterics that had their faces reddening. It was mad, Jesse couldn’t remember ever seeing Dele that way before. He supposed it had something to do with this being the first time he’d seem him with a man.

“Ah, that’s Adam he said he was gonna come meet us for a drink after work if that’s cool.” Eric said looking down at his phone as Dele nodded taking a sip from his drink and squeezing the brunette’s thigh who leaned into the touch, searching out for more of it.

“Get another round in Doc, don’t think I ain’t noticed it’s your turn!” Marcus joked, Eric rolling his eyes despite his smile as he pressed a kiss to Dele’s forehead on the way to meet his mate outside and then go to the bar.

Dele instantly turned to the lads who were all smirking at him.

“So, what do you think?” He asked, confidence waning slightly as his teeth worried at his bottom lip in anticipation.

“Man is allergic to brand clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone under the age of 60 wear a plain black jumper and blue jeans.”

“Fuck off.” Dele laughed, shaking his head at Alex who simply shrugged with a playful grin as the table laughed.

“He’s boring.” Paul stated and that had Jesse and Marcus in absolute creases, Dele rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to Alex who actually looked like he was gonna have a serious input to the conversation after all.

“Del, he seems really nice. Shy, but he’s probs nervous. He seems sound as fuck. Plus, I can see how happy he makes you, so I’m gassed mate. Really.” Alex squeezed Dele’s shoulder who was blushing, smirking into the last remaining bit of his drink as Eric approached with a tray that set Jesse off cheering. Marcus was looking at Jesse, smile wide at his best friend’s enthusiasm and Lingard wanted to stay under that light for the rest of the night.

“Here we are boys, and this is my mate Adam, who’s even more boring than I am, so don’t expect any valuable additions to the conversation.” As soon as the tray was put on the table and Eric took his seat back next to Dele all the planets in all the universes were sucked into a black hole and all Jesse could do was stare as Adam Lallana was staring back at him with a wide shit-eating smile.

That felt very much the exact opposite of Rashy’s.

What a small fucking world they lived in.

Fuck, could Jesse just get up and leave? But that would leave the question of if Adam would say anything wide open and all Lingard could do was stare as Adam approached the table with a wave to the lads who seemed completely unaware of the potential catastrophe of two such worlds colliding.

“Well isn’t this lovely.” Adam said to be a fucking dick as Jesse gaped at him. “Is this seat taken?” He asked, taking up position beside Lingard who felt like his heart was about to fall out his arse. Rashford seemed to notice the shift in Jesse’s demeanour even if the rest of the group were entirely unaware and that could only end in disaster too.

Adam took a loud sip from his drink, smacking his lips together and looking around the table who introduced themselves. God why did Jesse’s mates have to be so fucking welcoming?

The conversation went on easily for a while, just everyone joking and laughing with Dele and Eric remining the stars of the show despite Jesse feeling like the whole table noticed every time Adam so much as glanced at him with a smirk.

“So, Adam what do you do?” Paul asked still reeling from a joke Adam had said about something that had the whole table laughing aside from Jesse who was staring at his vodka coke, wishing he’d asked for a triple.

“Adam’s a stripper.” Eric said unashamedly, taking a gulp of his drink and flashing a toothy grin at Adam who just laughed out loud. Jesse’s heart sank even deeper and was it possible to run out the bar without anyone noticing? Of course, Adam would be open to his friends about his lifestyle, he was so unapologetic about the mundanities that it just made sense that he’d be unapologetic about that too.

“For real?” Alex asked, and Lingard felt like he was about to have an anxiety attack.

“Yeah, I take my clothes off for money.” The way he said it made Jesse felt dirty and cheap and he couldn’t help but take a sneaking glance towards his friends to see their reaction. Alex looked like all his Christmases had come at once, looking like it was the most interesting thing ever and like he was mentally preparing a dissertation of questions to bombard Adam with. Paul had a slight frown pulling at his brow like it really had come out of left field, leaving Pogba more baffled than most things could. And Marcus, well Marcus’ mouth was wide open, a smirk tugging at the sides of his lips as he looked to Jesse, throwing him a head gesture that was their language for ‘are you actually hearing this?’.

“That’s the dream that is.” Marcus said, the lads laughing but Jesse couldn’t even bring himself to smile.

“Not with a nothin’ body like yours, Rash.” Dele said, Marcus looking to his friend aghast as the rest of the table laughed.

“Fuck yourself, I’m hench ain’t I Jess? I’m bench-pressing bare at our gym seshes now!” Rashford had a pout on his lips as he pointed down to his body and Jesse definitely wasn’t going to let his eyes flicker down at the invitation, so he chose instead to say nothing.

To do nothing.

“Jesse is hench, to be fair though don’t think I ain’t been noticing the flex on Instagram!” Alex said, pointing to Lingard who shrugged.

“Bought to say, you have the build to be a stripper, you know.” Adam said, turning to Jesse with a crooked grin and a twinkle in his eye that seemed to say, _thanks for adding Jordan Henderson for me_ and this Jesse supposed, was what the tables turning felt like.

“I’ll take that advice on board, thank you Andy.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It’s Adam actually.” Lallana said with a smirk that read he was 1000% just being a dickhead to make his friend sweat.

Why on God’s green one did Jesse have to add Jordan on the sly? _Karma is only a bitch if you are_.

“My bad, bro.” Jesse said, clapping Adam on the back so hard Lallana spilt his drink a little, freezing despite the smirk on his face that seemed impossible to wipe off at that moment.

“I’m goin for a fag” Jesse announced, rising from his seat and weaving his way out of the pub that was beginning to feel like the walls were closing in on him. He burst out the doors and took a deep breath, rubbing his face and trying to convince himself that even if his friends found out about his job that life would continue, and everything wouldn’t be completely and utterly fucked beyond all measure.

He heard the door open and then close behind him and he wasn’t even surprised when he turned to face his friend.

“Are you ok?” Marcus asked, hand reaching out and touching Jesse’s arm who ducked out the way, Rashford’s face falling at the gesture and suddenly Jesse was transported to the day he leapt off his sofa, instantly craving the feeling of Marcus’ breath on his cheek and finger curled into the folds of his joggers and regretting ever answering his fucking phone.

“I’m fine mate, just knackered.” He lied, rolling his shoulders and busing himself with lighting a cigarette as Marcus stood watching him with a furrowed brow and a pout.

“You sure?  You seem well touchy.” He had venom in his voice which usually came from Rashford pretending he didn’t care and really Lingard didn’t need another thing to overthink so instead he just inhaled his cigarette and let the smoke fill him up from the inside.

“I’m not.”

“Is this about Dele, fam?” His hand was back again, fingers curled around Jesse’s slim wrist this time, thumb stroking at the soft skin he found, and Jesse didn’t have the strength to move away.

“What?” He was completely distracted, by the heat of skin on skin and the insinuation that maybe Marcus thought that maybe Jesse was the slightest bit homophobic. It was laughable really, so he couldn’t help but let out a taxed laugh that had Marcus sighing.

“Is this about Dele and his fella?”

“No! I don’t care about that man, what kinda prick do you think I am?” He was aware his voice sounded slightly strained as he said it. If it were a fraction angrier then Marcus would surely be able to see through all the lies and deep into the heart of him.

Lingard was fucked no matter how the conversation was to go down.

“Good, cos _I_ don’t care.” Marcus said, hand still holding Jesse’s wrist and all Lingard could do was breathe and try so hard not to reach into the possibility of the weight behind those words, to hope. Marcus had his own gravitational pull, Jesse was sure of it. Whenever he tried to break himself away, Rashford would be there with his subtle comfort and Jesse would be pulled toward him again.

“Alright lads?” Adam came out of nowhere, freshly lit cigarette hanging from his lips as Jesse and Marcus took a step away from one another, Adam’s eyes following the broken contact between them. “Sorry, what are your names again, I’m useless with this kind of thing?” He was smiling, to Rashford it looked polite, but to Jesse it was smug, and he’d never wanted to spark someone out so much in his whole life.

“Nah no worries man, I’m Marcus and this is Jesse.”

“Ah that’s it! You alright man, you seem on edge?” Adam said, blowing out smoke and fixing Jesse with a look that made his skin crawl especially as Marcus was glancing between the two with a look that seemed like he alone could unravel the whole scenario if he looked hard enough.

“Nah I’m alright man, just knackered from work.” He said, with efforts to remain as casual as possible.

“Jess works in some expensive bar, making cocktails for super villains and shit.” Rashford said with a polite smile, hands in his pockets as he nudged at the toe of his trainers with his other foot.

“Ah no way, sounds fun!” Adam’s gaze was flitting between the two of them and Jesse cleared his throat to gain his full attention.

“I enjoy it.”

“How do you two know one another?” Adam said changing the subject entirely but with a purpose even Jesse couldn’t miss.

“We’ve been best mates since year 7 man.” Marcus said, tone cheerful as he wrapped a playful arm around Lingard who couldn’t help but lean into the touch despite the fact that it immediately gave too much away because Adam wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Ah, that’s nice.” Adam said, looking at his cigarette and focusing on the way the ash turned from a subtle orange glow to grey and soon enough Marcus was clearing his throat.

“I’ll catch you both back in there then, can’t leave a full pint with them dickheads for too long.” And as Jesse nodded with a smile he was retreating, the sounds of the pub filling the street until the door closed it off and they were stood in what felt like silence.

“What the fuck are you doing playin’ games like this man?” Jesse spat, rounding on his friend who didn’t look shocked at his outburst.

“Teaching your spoilt arse a lesson that you can’t just interfere with someone’s life.” Adam said and it silenced Jesse, the smaller man shrugging as he finished off his cigarette flicking it into the gutter of the road ahead.

“How is me addin’ your _boyfriend_ on facebook even remotely similar to you toyin’ with me like this?” Jesse asked with a hushed voice and a step closer to Adam who took a seat on the low wall beside them. Adam looked up at him, laughing a little huff of breath at Lingard’s effort to look in any way intimidating.

“Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I took it too far but trust me they don’t suspect a thing. You gotta admit it’s funny though? Like what are the odds?” He said, and it was infuriating. Infuriating that Adam couldn’t possibly know why Jesse was so guarded. Because Adam himself was so confident, so accepting of who he was and so unashamed of the consequences. It made Jesse wonder if he’d always been that way, or had he too been in Jesse’s shoes before. After a considered silence Jesse took a seat next to him, eyes trained on his new shoes as he kicked at a cracked slab of paving beneath him.

“Yeah it might be the slightest bit banter. Only slightly.” His voice was low, his heart still pounding out as it had done all night. The whole evening was fucking with his head and he didn’t know what to think of anything anymore. The lines between his real life and work life had never been so blurred before and he was beginning to think he couldn’t live a fulfilled life with both, the way Adam could so openly.

“Of all the friends of Dele’s I could possibly meet, I’m glad I’m spending time with you.” Adam said with a shoulder bump that had Lingard smiling despite his efforts to remain as pissed off with Adam as possible.

“Same. You’re alright you know, out in the real world when you’re not single handedly tryin’ to ruin my life.” He joked, Adam taking a draw from his cigarette as they sat together for a few moments.

“Let’s just say we’re both dicks when we wanna be. And it’s probably best we don’t meddle with one another’s personal lives unless it’s warranted.”

“Deal, Llama.”

“Good lad.” Adam’s voice was quiet as Jesse shut his eyes, prepping himself to face his friends again, to sit opposite Dele and Eric whilst sitting within touching distance of Marcus and wanting nothing more than to reach out for his hand under the table.

“So, he’s your Jordan then?” Adam asked quietly kicking his feet against the back of the wall as Jesse just sighed at the weight of the confession. He knew who Adam was referring too.

“Yeah. He is.”

“I can see why. He’s nice, he’s fit.” Jesse couldn’t help but snort at that.

“I know man, see now why it’s so fucked? We’ve known one another for so long.” He was looking at his friend’s comforting eyes then and all the humour had disappeared from them, his head nodding and his expression sombre and it made Jesse feel so much worse, because now he felt pathetic.

It was hard for him not to feel pathetic whenever he thought of Rashford, especially since their moment in his flat. He was reading into every detail of them and trying to piece together some semblance of what Marcus could have possibly been thinking throughout the scenario and he just kept coming up with nothing at all.

“How long you been in love with him?”

“Can 11-year-olds be in love?” Jesse asked with a sad laugh, perhaps not entirely joking. Adam wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a hug and Lingard fell into the comfort of it, into the familiar scent of his friend who despite being a huge dick was always there for him with an unyielding sense of knowing that made him feel like everything was going to be ok.

“It’ll sort itself out Jess, don’t you worry about that.” Jesse nuzzled his forehead into Adam’s shoulder, nodding against him. “I won’t say anything. I’ve had my fun now, I’ll stop.”

“Thanks, Ads.” It was muffled, but by the tightening of Adam’s embrace showed he heard loud and clear.

“Is everything ok?” Marcus’ voice had Jesse and Adam leaping apart, Jesse staring at Rashford who’s frown looked unmoveable as he stood in-front of the pub door closing behind him.

“Yeah, everything’s all good. I was just heading back in.” Adam rushed to say, smiling awkwardly at Rashford before ducking back inside the pub. Lingard just stared at his friend whose gaze was completely unwavering.

“What was you doing?” He asked, pointing to the wall that Adam had vacated that Jesse looked back at like he’d forgotten. He sucked his teeth with an annoyed frown as he rose to his feet, Marcus’ brow shooting up into his hairline at Jesse’s sudden abrasiveness.

“Givin’ him a hug man, he’s goin’ through shit at home I think.”

“You just huggin’ a stranger like that?” He retorted, and Jesse felt the weight of the conversation pressing down on his chest until he felt like his ribs would crack and his heart would stop beating all together.

“Jesus, chill fam. If you want a hug so damn bad shoulda asked for yourself ennit.” Jesse said with a huff, shifting to walk passed Rashford who grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him into him. Jesse stumbled until he felt arms encircling him and he hated how he instantly grabbed the front of Marcus’ shirt, holding him closer to him as he sank into the arms around him.

“I want a hug fam and what?” Marcus whispered through a laugh and Jesse couldn’t help but laugh either, flattening his hands against the firm chest pressed flush to him and letting his eyes flutter shut.

“I don’t want us driftin’ apart Jess. I can’t live without you, you get me?” Marcus said, Lingard swallowing dryly.  His body radiating heat against Marcus and he felt entirely powerless in the boy’s embrace. It felt rather like the hug they shared on his doorstep, charged and saturated with the need to say things that neither could bring themselves to say so instead they just held on.

“I don’t wanna live without you either, dickhead.” Lingard replied and hoped Marcus would hear the hope in his words.

“Let’s make time for each other then, yeah?” Marcus pulled back, hands cupping Jesse’s face who just stared at his friend, eyes flitting from his gaze to his lips and back again. He let his fingers curl into the fabric of his friend’s t-shirt, anchoring himself to something in case he drifted away in the feeling all together. Marcus’ touch was featherlight on his face, their eyes boring into one another and Jesse felt like the touch was rather like being at home. Like being at home with the fire on, bedsheets freshly changed, smell of something cooking in the air, filling his body with warmth. It didn’t feel like fireworks and explosions like the movies would describe a moment like that. It felt entirely _more_ than that, like something that belonged in the walls of Jesse’s life, the very foundations of his home. Of his being.

“It’s not that easy man.” Jesse said weakly, Marcus’ thumb stroked across his cheekbone and Jesse was drowning, completely and utterly.

“Can’t you at least try?” God why was he whispering? Why did it feel like they were the only two people alive? Jesse lifted a hand, settling on-top of one of Marcus’. It was an indulgent moment of selfishness, skin on skin and being distracted by his own reflection in Marcus’ gaze. He sighed, forcing himself out of the moment and simply patting Rashford’s hand in some vague semblance of what a mate would do.

“I’ll try.” Jesse said and meant it and would say it again and again for the rest of his life if it meant he could see the smile that lit up Rashford’s face on repeat.

 


	11. Olivier

 

Olivier yawned into his costa cup, slouching in the arm chair near the front of the stage as he lingered on the outside of a conversation between his colleagues around him. From what he could gather in his sleep deprived state, John Stones was in the middle of the great sexuality crisis of 2018 and it seemed to be the main event pre-morning meeting.

“Dunno man, it’s this place! It’s must have fuckin’ broke me, suddenly I’m questioning everything!” John was in the middle of saying, Trippier looking at him with wide eyes as Coutinho threw his head back with a laugh from his position on the chair beside Olivier.

“I have always wondered why you keep watching me when I dance!” Maguire mocked John just rolling his eyes despite the smirk on his face. He sighed then, falling back into his chair and staring up helplessly at the ceiling.

“What’s made you think like this?” Giroud swooped in with, the guys turning to look at him. John sat in contemplation for a few minutes, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and Giroud had never seen him look so vulnerable before. John was the sort of guy who always seemed confident with a get-up-and-go attitude so the minute he had something bothering him, it was written quite clearly on every contour of his face.

“A bloke on John’s Master’s course that’s who!”

Olivier nodded in understanding. John was a bright lad, and finally decided to go back to University to continue his research in something or other. Olivier didn’t really understand the course other than it involved project management in the title. It had been Maguire and Lallana who had continuously encouraged John, which would probably be the reason why the two were sat ribbing him about his current predicament the most. 

“We had to do this ice-breaker thing as a group, like saying who we are and what we want to gain from the course and this bloke just swans in late during the middle of my awkward intro. But I dunno, I kept lookin’ at him after and he was smiling at me and I felt all flustered and stuff and then we just kinda became mates?”

“Maybe it’s because he interrupted you and you were anxious about it being your first day?” Tripper asked pocketing his phone with a shrug and a spread-leg stance that Lallana often referred to as making him look ‘inherently straight’. Lallana had a point with that observation.

“Nah this is definitely a crush, trust me. John hasn’t shut up about him. This guy bought him a coffee _off campus_ because he said he wanted to apologise for ruining John’s ice breaker and that was the first day they met! Come on Oli, we know that’s gay code for _I want pretty boy sex_.” Lallana smirked, winking at Olivier who chuckled.

“It’s true. Ant got me coffee when we first met didn’t you baby?”

“I did indeed.” Antoine replied from his position of attempting a nap on the chair in front, Olivier leaning forwards and placing a kiss on top of his forehead, Antoine smiling into the hood from his jacket that was draped over him like a make shift blanket. His eyes were slightly puffy from the two working late the night before, but he still looked adorably endearing and several years younger than he actually was.

The two’s dynamic was struggling, and Olivier owed it to himself to admit that much at least. They were trying, they were trying so hard and yet it felt like there was something between them that often felt as though it was irreparable. He sat back in his seat, focusing back on John rather than delve into the pain that echoed in his chest at that thought like a struck chord.

“Mate, I’m not gay though?” John declared, and Giroud nearly felt himself smiling at the way he saw at least three of the other lads pull faces as though in an effort to testify against that claim.

“Sexuality is a spectrum, Stones.” Lingard piped up, typing away at his phone and not even looking up at the group of guys beside him. “My mate only came out like a few weeks ago.”

“Shit. You reckon I could be like slightly gay then?” John looked alarmed, cheeks red and eyes wide.

“Could be man. It’s 2018. Is anyone really definitely anything anymore?” Adam said, rubbing John’s shoulders who frowned into thin air, Olivier practically watching the cogs of thought turn around in his mind. It was a moment many of the guys in the room had had to encounter at some point and to see it play out in real time with someone he knew was intriguing. John looked nervous, anxious and it made Olivier internally reminisce about the conflict he once felt all those years ago. He didn’t want to say John had a long road ahead of him, perhaps his journey would be entirely different in its navigation, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Felt like nothing could be said that John wasn’t already aware of himself.

Like Olivier said, he was a bright lad.

“So, by that logic you’re not definitely gay.” Trippier said, pointing at Adam who paused spluttering out a laugh at the smaller man’s teasing expression.

“Maybe I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Damn, my father was right this whole time!” Adam laughed, Maguire shoving his shoulder playfully as he passed on his way to grab a drink.

“This conversation is hurting my head, I’m nowhere near awake enough for this existential talk!” Hazard shouted from his position at the bar where he was fixing himself and a few other lads an orange juice.

“Now you know how I feel.” John growled out in frustration, slouching even further down his seat in a clear sign of childish petulance. Olivier reached a hand out and ruffled his hair in a gesture that felt foreign on hair that didn’t belong to Antoine.

“Talk to this guy. What’s his name?”

“Kyle.” John said quietly, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth which was an endlessly endearing move in of itself.

“Just message Kyle see if the feelings are genuine as you find out more about him or if you are just confused. Trust me it’ll click at some-point.”

“Thanks French daddy.” John said, looking by no means at ease with the situation but thankful regardless as he leaned forwards to ruffle up Giroud’s own hair. The older man ducked out the way before he could put a decent effort in though.

“Don’t call me that.” Olivier said, watching John laugh as Gareth called out his Good mornings from the back of the room, he and Harry making their way over to the stage from the office. Olivier took the lull in conversation as the perfect moment to check through his phone.

There was nothing new in his news feeds this early in the morning, so he was just thumbing through posts that rang familiar from when he’d first checked them at breakfast, him and Ant sat opposite one another with a silence the wrong side of uncomfortable filling the home that felt like it had yet to wake up.

“As you can see, there is a new face joining the team! Everyone this is our newest team member, Benjamin Pavard.” Olivier looked up from his phone to see the familiar man stood between Gareth and Harry to the side of the stage. Their eyes met at the same moment and Giroud swallowed down a breath he was in fear of releasing.

“It’s great to meet you all.” Ben said, ducking his head and eventually breaking eye contact to look to the rest of the lads who all replied in an awkward collective of greetings. Olivier didn’t know why he let his eyes roll towards Antoine to gauge his reaction. He seemed completely unfazed, propping his head up on his hand and swinging his leg from the arm of the chair as he sat still covered by the hoodie draped over him.

“So, he’s gonna get a feel for the place, observing routine practices, doing the usual process of spending a week watching how we work during open hours just to get to grips with how he handles things. But I’m sure he’ll be perfect for South of Heaven.”

Olivier didn’t know what to think. On one hand he was pleased, pleased there was another taste of the home he didn’t want to admit he missed so much, around him. There to remind him that France was always there even if he wasn’t. But there was something about Ben that made Olivier’s breath stutter and his palms slick with a nervousness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Those particular feelings were often followed with a slow build-up of guilt that started low in his gut and built up like a twisted ivy vine before coiling around his throat and threatening to steal his breath from him.

The meeting carried on, everyone oblivious to the way Giroud shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying desperately to keep his gaze away from Ben and finding it increasingly harder to do so has he allowed himself again and again to be sucked into the pull.

There was something in his mind that was telling him it had everything to do with the lull in his and Antoine’s relationship, that the evident strain there was causing him to seek comfort in something else and where he’d usually gravitate towards a friend he found himself drawn to Pavard and the familiarity of home.

Soon enough Giroud was blinking himself from his thoughts and everyone around him was rising to their feet. Antoine was towering over him, stretching up one of his hands into the air with a groan and the other letting his fingers tease at the spot behind Olivier’s ear that he would stroke whenever he was hoping to calm Giroud’s stress.

The gesture made him want to cry suddenly, something so routine for them that he was able to read the lines of Olivier’s body like a book he knew from cover to cover. Just unable to place the exact reasoning for his tension. Giroud was thankful for that at least, at least whilst he couldn’t quite explain it himself.

He dropped a kiss to Antoine’s wrist and the smaller man chuckled at the motion, helping lift his boyfriend to his feet whose legs clicked causing them both to laugh through their matching grimaces.

“You’re falling apart, I think!” Antoine teased, Giroud rolling his eyes and dragging him into a loose headlock that the younger man easily pulled himself from, pressing his chest to Olivier’s and looking up at him through a fan of pretty lashes that still had his breath catching in his throat.

“And you are the unfortunate soul that will have to attempt to put me back together again.”

“I’m many things, _mon cheri_ , but a miracle worker is not one of them!” Antoine teased, placing a kiss to Olivier’s cheek and separating him to collect his backpack from beneath his arm chair. Olivier turned from his boyfriend and felt himself freeze despite himself.

“ _Hello stranger_.” Ben said as he approached Olivier, Antoine’s attention snapping to them, brow furrowed as he assessed the new arrival with a caution perhaps deep routed in his accent. Giroud rubbed the back of his neck smiling at the presence of Pavard, forcing out politeness to suppress the awkwardness that threatened to flush him from the room in a tidal wave of questioning looks from his boyfriend.

“Hey there.” He said in English, if Ben was surprised at that he didn’t make it known just let his gaze drift from Giroud and to Antoine who was stood beside his partner with a friendly smile. “Hello, you must be Antoine, Gareth told me about the resident French men here!”

“I see, well you are very welcome here. Please don’t hesitate to ask me or Olivier anything that you need to know.” Antoine was polite, smile slight and the perception of warmth but Olivier didn’t miss the way he turned without another glance to either of them, simply headed over to Hazard and Alisson, joining their conversation and leaving Giroud alone with Pavard.

He hadn’t thought of Pavard much since him and Antoine seemed to be back on track, though he had caught himself thinking back to their first conversation. Not all the time, just in fleeting thoughts when he’d be sat at the breakfast bar with cereal and the radio playing a soft song in the background that Antoine would be singing along to from his position working out on the living room floor. Or he’d think of him lying in bed at night, skin still slick with sweat from him and Ant fucking. They were never explicit thoughts, never weighted with desire for more. They were just thoughts, simple and subtle in their ways of affecting him.

“So, it’s my first night, gotta admit, I’m a little nervous, glad I’m not dancing straight away.” Ben admitted, in broken English that again felt rather like a throwback to a life Olivier remembered so vividly and suddenly his tension transpired into sympathy and he let out a genuine smile. Benjamin looked fearful, he was kicking his shoe at the nearest piece of furniture, hands shoved into his jeans and shoulders hunched despite his efforts to stand tall and keep his chin up.

He wasn’t fooling Olivier, who had been there, done that and had in fact bought the t-shirt. The saying itself a testament to how easy it was to slip into the life of a country that was once so confusing and new. Once so daunting.

“Don’t be! You will be fine, we’re a family here and we stick together.”

“Gareth says Antoine is your boyfriend.” That was not the direction he expected the conversation to go and by the way Ben bowed his head slightly, it was evident on Giroud’s face.

“Yes, he is. 5 years.” He said to compose himself, Ben nodding with a wry smile.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, we’re very happy.”

“I’m sure.” Benjamin said in a tone that made Olivier think he felt very much the opposite. “I’ll see you soon Olivier, I’m going to go and _mingle_.” He slipped into French in the last word of his departure and Olivier grinned despite himself, watching the young man head towards where Messi and Maguire were greeting him with hugs and claps on the back.

“You ready to go?” Antoine asked, reappearing at his side and Olivier dragged his eyes away to find two pools of blue blinking up at him.

“Yes.” He answered, voice cracking as though he hadn’t spoken for a while. If Antione noticed he didn’t say anything, just made his usual goodbye rounds to the guys and told them he’d see them tomorrow. Giroud didn’t look back, despite every instinct inside him telling him to see if someone in particular was watching him leave.

The walk to the car was a quiet one, but Antoine’s hand was still held within his own, exuding a heat that Giroud was so familiar with along with the weight of the hand that moulded to his own like it was a part of him.

He wanted to speak, wanted to say what was bothering him, knowing deep down that honesty was the best policy but truly what could he say? He was thinking of another man? But he hadn’t done anything, hadn’t thought any explicit? How could he say the truth without it underlying with something that had the potential to break Antoine’s heart? It would be selfish to say anything whilst Giroud was still so confused about everything himself, perhaps not explaining at all was better than explaining badly?

After the Hathaway incident, Giroud really didn’t want to fill Antoine’s head with needless worry, but as he glanced towards his boyfriend he broke their hands as he made his way around to the driver’s seat side of the car, Olivier could tell he was already thinking a million things at once.

They drove for a while in relative silence before Olivier thought talking about anything would be better than letting Antoine stew in whatever thought was causing him to slam his breaks and flip off drivers in frustration at seemingly every turn. So, he spoke, words rambling and aura hoping to exude relaxation despite every nerve ending feeling of fire.

“Crazy about John, right? I mean this guy has been with his girlfriend for like 3 years and he meets this guy once and suddenly his whole world has turned around.” Olivier spoke easily as he could, thumbing through his phone and responding to the work group chat that was currently sending in pictures and videos of Jesse and Leo playing _hide-the-underwear_ with a very annoyed looking Alisson.

“Yeah, weird.” Antoine said quietly. Giroud chanced a glance to his boyfriend.

“ _Is everything ok Mon cheri_?” He had to ask, because his heart was beating, and it was hurting for the vacant expression on the expressive face he was so content waking up to every morning, the Antoine who sat next to him with wide eyes and a down-turned mouth felt like a stranger.

“ _When did you meet Ben?”_ Antoine asked, indicating into another lane and Olivier let his gaze drift to the driver who was looking out onto the road, one hand on the wheel the other up to his lips, teeth nibbling at the nail of his thumb. It was a trait that often came with an anxious thought on Antoine’s part and Giroud swallowed the implications of that down with the guilt that churned up bile in his stomach.

“Day he auditioned, he was in the hallway looking lost, Gareth asked us to be nice to the new guys.” Olivier said, wondering why the truth felt like a lie on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me you met another French guy?”

“Why did I have to?” Olivier recounted back quickly, half expecting the way Antoine drew his lips into his mouth, eyebrows raised, and eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. He hadn’t even noticed how close they were to home, because soon enough they were pulling into their driveway and Antoine was shutting off the engine.

“You didn’t have to tell me.” Griezmann’s tone was cold, ice cold and Olivier felt like he’d just stepped outside on a freezing cold morning, frost threatening to freeze his lungs as his breath was stolen from him. “I’m just wondering why you thought you couldn’t.” Olivier was silenced as Antoine unbuckled his belt and stepped out of the car, slamming the door that echoed in the emptiness of the garage, Giroud just sat there frozen and questioning everything that drifted around his head in a whirlwind.

 


	12. Jordan

 

The buzz in his pocket alerted him to the fact he was finding himself increasingly in too deep. The speed in which his hand pushed down into the denim and fumbled with his phone was another signifier and the way his heart dropped, and his smile faded when he saw he was getting an incoming call from James Milner was 100% another signifier on the infinite list of reasons why Jordan Henderson was fucked.

“What do you want?” He asked as a greeting, going for amused and feeling himself actually smile when James cackled down the line.

“Just wanted to see how South of Heaven’s newest member is doing? Chris Jord, I didn’t think you had the money! Or the balls!” James cackled, and Jordan instantly felt his cheeks heat up, frown tugging at his brow as he stirred his tea for an absurdly long time. Jordan’s name must have been thrown about a bit if Milner ended up finding out, no doubt from Harry and it made him feel a little bit like an idiot kid with a crush.

Everyone probably knew he was there for Adam and Adam alone and everyone probably thought he was pathetic. Jordan sure did. He just couldn’t seem to seperate Adam from South of Heaven. They spoke regularly on Facebook since Adam’s surprising friend request and all Jordan had to do was ask him the fuck out. One quick question and that would be done, no crazy amount of money being thrown into a seedy club, no bouncers threatening to get between them at every turn, just the two of them.

Perhaps Jordan wasn’t ready for that afterall.

Or perhaps he thought Adam wouldn’t be.

Wouldn’t want to?

“I don’t. Let’s just say I’m a fucking idiot.” He said, throwing the tea-spoon into the kitchen sink and taking a seat on one of the rickety chairs in the Staff room.

“There are whispers around the bar, you know.” James continued, and Jordan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “People speculating why you might be forking out this cash.”

“And what are the people’s verdict.” He smacked his lips together, trying to register James’ opinion from voice alone. It was easier than reading most people were because Milner was an open book the best of days so when he let out an exaggerated sigh Jordan felt his heart stutter.

“I’m waiting for you to tell your best mate.”

“Fine. I may or may not have a thing for a dancer. No big deal, you probably see it every day in that bar.” Jordan said rising from his seat and throwing his fresh cup of tea down the drain just for something to do as his body thrummed with a nervous energy that came with the admission that James was 100% happy to hear if his annoying cooing was anything to go by.

“Adam would be made up to hear that.”

“Bold of you to assume it’s Adam.” Jordan muttered insolently.

“Mate, when I say you’re not subtle I mean you’re not subtle!” Ok that was embarrassing. Mainly because he assumed James wasn’t a particularly observant bloke to begin with. Thinking back though Jordan hadn’t been subtle, he’d been practically dry humping Adam that day in the bar and James had been pouring drinks right there, so perhaps Jordan needed to learn how to give credit to his stupid oaf of a mate when it was due.

“Yeah, I feel like I might have let myself get a bit carried away.”

“I’m just telling you to be careful, Jord.” James said bluntly, and Jordan frowned, leaning against the kitchen counter and nodding a greeting at Jeanette as she entered the room in a typical morning whirlwind.

“What do you mean?”

“I like Adam, he’s a nice lad. But, this is his job. You know?” Jordan’s cheeks flushed like he wasn’t a 25-year-old man with a grasp on how life worked but was in fact Milner’s stroppy teenage son who was getting life lessons of the bloke. It was actually kind of mortifying.

“I know.” He sulked. “I just need to figure this out by myself like.” He added because he really wasn’t in the mood for Milner to launch into a long list of reasons as to why Jordan was a fucking idiot. It was all Milner’s fault really though, so maybe the guilt trip was a bit on the projection side of things.

“Just remember heartbreak will feel much worse when you’re out of pocket for it. Just take this conversation as some kind of best-mate warning on my behalf.” That was true, he couldn’t even bring himself to protest or argue because he was an idiot setting himself up for disaster like the Captain of the Titanic too proud to get on a fucking life boat.

“Thanks, I think.”

“You comin’ the bar tonight?” James asked after a moment of silence and Jordan found himself nodding.

“Yeah, gonna finish this shift, go home and freshen up and I should make it there in time for-“

“Adam’s shift starting at 9, yeah I get it.” He said and if Jordan hung up on his dickhead friend’s laughter well he was putting it down to being 8.45 on a dreary morning, and Jeanette looking like she was about to bombard him with as much gossip as they could fit in to fifteen minutes.

~*~

“Martin are you seeing any flying pigs about?” The skinnier of the two bouncers asked at the door and Jordan fixed him with an unamused expression as the other burlier bloke, Martin, looked up dramatically. “Because it looks like lover-boy finally pulled his finger out and spent a bit of money.”

“No flying pigs Danny, but I felt my feet go chilly, hell must have frozen over.” He let them laugh it up for a moment, just rolled his eyes and wondered why he was even bothering with Adam in the first place if it led to moments in his life that involved being dressed down by a couple of jobs-worths.

“Are you allowed to talk to paying members like this?” He countered and was met with two expressions that were now far from amused and endlessly intimidating.

“Don’t see any rules about it.” Martin said with a shrug as he eyed the ID card that Daniel was in the middle of assessing like he didn’t quite believe it was real.

“Just find it hard to believe you’d talk to some stiff suit like this.” Jordan said bristling a little as he adjusted his jacket in hopes of looking more presentable than he perhaps did.

“Most of the stiff suits know how to keep their hands to themselves.” Daniel said, looking up from the card in his hand with a raised eyebrow before offering it back to Jordan who snatched it from between his fingers insolently.

The blush that crept up his cheeks was unprecedented as the look they fixed him with seemed reserved for scumbags and perverts and wow what turn did Jordan take in his life to resort to that?

“That won’t happen again.” He said vehemently, because it wouldn’t. He had no intention of walking in and causing a scene and potentially putting Adam’s job at risk. Maybe the danger in that was Jordan setting down the slippery slope of a path of thinking that him and Adam had surpassed that kind of customer/dancer relationship and was instead something else.

Regardless, the bouncers didn’t look convinced, Danny fixing Martin a look that screamed ‘ _are you sure about that_?’

“Damn right it won’t. Or you won’t _have_ hands to touch the pretty boys with.” The smile Martin flashed him wasn’t one he fancied seeing again anytime soon so he just shoved his membership card in his pocket in an attempt to make a point. He cleared his throat when the blokes in front of him didn’t look convinced.

“I’m almost positive you can’t talk to me like that.”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll be stood out here all night. And you come back to me when you find someone who gives a shit how I speak to you.”

“Right, well can I go in now or am I banned?” Jordan snapped, rolling his eyes at the leers the bouncers exchanged before stepping either side of him to allow him through.

“For some reason, you’re green lit. So please stay out of trouble, or we might not be as kind later.” Daniel said throwing a patronising wave towards Jordan who felt unreasonably angry. They had a point, he had over stepped the mark and it was good that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by security and staff with higher authority but still, it made his stomach churn and his nerves feel a bit all over the place. He hadn’t even stepped foot in the building yet.

“Thanks, hope you both have an amazing night.”

“We’ve got our eyes on you Henderson!” He heard Martin sing-song as he made his way through the heavy doors, bypassing the cloak room as he usually did and heading straight through to the main room where the night was in full swing.

It was only mildly concerning that he was recognising not just dancers on the podiums but also the regular customers and Jordan, despite feeling superior to them in some-way had to adjust to the thought that there wasn’t much difference in him and the rich old men who would swan in with a look but do not touch mindset concerning the pretty men in lacy underwear.

Milner’s warning repeated in his head like a sadistic playlist and he bit his lip as he approached the bar. Kane wasn’t there and thankfully neither was James, there was just two guys laughing and joking with the patrons and Jordan let himself slink into a stool at the end.

He felt somehow more out of place having become a member and he knew it was trouble being back in the first place. He and Adam had seemingly struck up some kind of routine with their messaging since their social media friendship and it felt rather like Adam was two separate people entirely. The nerves that slicked his palms in a sweat felt so far removed from the comforting warmth that flooded through him when he’d be messaging Adam from bundled up in blankets, the other man replying just as quickly as Jordan and relaying his thoughts, memories and feelings about things to the younger man.

Jordan just needed to find a way to bring the two versions of Adam together into one. But that seemed incredibly more dangerous somehow?

“I was beginning to think I scared you off.” Jordan looked up at the familiar voice and found he was lucky to be sat down because his legs definitely would have given way had he been stood up. As if conjured up by thought alone, Adam was there looking nothing short of divine. It probably should have been embarrassing how quickly Jordan noticed the change in his hair. His usually long dark strands had been cut and styled and now had blonde tips that should not have looked as attractive as they did. Jordan was beginning to think Adam was a chameleon of all things sexy and it was becoming an instant problem at how quickly his body woke up at the presence of the older man.

“You still might do with that hair, like.” Jordan hoped his voice didn’t sound as cracked as it was. He cleared his throat and the embarrassment may have been worth it just for the way Adam ducked his head down, the lights overhead catching on the subtle glow of his skin.

“Yeah, I asked my barber for stylish highlights, probably should have gone to the bloke who wasn’t kitted out in Nsync merchandise.” Those slender fingers were running through the freshly styled strands and Jordan was hypnotised by the movement.

“Yeah you do have a bit of a Timberlake vibe going now.” His cheeks hurt from smiling and the way Adam’s blush was nothing short of bashful looked oddly adorable in the attire he was kitted out and under the leery gaze of sleazy men who passed by, their eye’s twinkling appreciatively.

“Fuck off or I’ll have you kicked out.” Adam teased. He was good at teasing, whether he was playing with Jordan’s sanity or his heart he was always the one in control with an aloof smile and a flirty comment and Jordan was rolling on his back like the dog he was when Adam was around.

“The security guards are chompin’ at the bit to get me thrown out! Seems like everyone has it out for me tonight.” He joked, enjoying the head tilting laugh from the dark eyed man. He was closing the distance between them and Jordan straightened up, looking around to see if anyone was ready to pounce on him. But nothing, just Adam standing at his side with a stretching smile and eyes that soaked Jordan’s presence in.

Jordan near moaned at the way Adam let his eyes roam shamelessly over his frame and the blonde was pleased he’d worn his nice shirt and tight-fitting jeans because the payoff was already spectacular if Adam’s lip bite was anything to go by.

“Not everyone. Vardy!”  He hit his hand down on the bar’s surface and the barman closest to them.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Two of my specialties coming up.” The barman replied with a smile, batting his hands towards Adam.

“I am able to buy drinks now you know, I’m a member and everything.” Jordan flourished his card out his jacket pocket then, waving it around as Adam snatched it from his grasp, eyeing it curiously.

“So the rumours are true.” He joked holding the card close to his chest and letting the corner drag slowly across his collarbones. Jordan’s jeans felt tighter at the flirtation. “Looks like lifeguards are earning more than they’re letting on.”

“Nah, just the stupid ones who are one lapdance away from going bankrupt.” Adam shifted then, so that he was pressed down the side of Jordan, who felt like his knuckles were turning white with how hard he was gripping the bar. Adam let skilled hands tug at Jordan’s jacket, fingers grazing down the chest that was bared through his open shirt. It should have been embarrassing how Adam’s touch on his bare skin made him feel more alive than he ever had done, body itching for more, as Lallana pushed Jordan’s membership card back in his pocket. They were both so aware that eyes were on them this time, that security had been alert when they had last been in this position, so the heat of Adam’s innocent touch was about as much as he could expect, but fuck if he didn’t already want more.

“Lapdance?” Adam asked and Jordan knew shifting closer was dangerous, it was bad news but his body was working on a different plane of sanity and seemed not to be co-operating with reason. He let his fingers twine around Adam’s that were still pressed lightly against his chest.

“May as well, what’s another £300 when I’ve already dropped £4,000?” It was a joke but his voice was too low, his body too hyper-aware of the way their fingers were dancing their own routine, skin stroking along skin, thumbs following curves and lines.

“So, you’d want a naked one then? £300 is fully nude remember.”

“Go hard or go home.” Jordan rose to the challenge in Adam’s voice and it was worth it for how Adam’s eyes fluttered shut, fingers stilling in Jordan’s palm. The blonde dared a sadistic glance to where their hands were joined, reveling in the simplistic touch of the normal gesture in an otherwise surreal portrait.

“I’d rather go hard.” Adam replied and fuck.

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Jordan said, voice dropping in tone as he fixed Adam with a look that was probably feral judging by the way Adam’s breath visibly stuttered, teeth catching on his bottom lip. Fuck, Jordan wanted those teeth pulling at his skin, marking him up in purples and blues, carving out his name in Jordan’s flesh until the whole world knew Adam Lallana broke him.

“Come in a room with me then, we can talk all we like for a little while. Or not at all.” The last bit nearly got lost on Jordan as he followed the movement of Adam wrapping his fingers around Jordan’s wrist, thumb teasing the skin over his pulse. Jordan often found himself thinking of Adam’s hands, memory thick with visuals of Adam’s finger tracking down his martini glass that would soon dissolve into thoughts of hand-prints and good grips all over his body.

“How do I go about paying for this _talk_ then?” Jordan couldn’t help but entertain the idea, because he really couldn’t care less about money any more. He rose to his feet and Adam’s eyes darkened and sparkled all at once. God they were even closer now Jordan was stood, wrist still in Adam’s loose grasp who kissed a delicate barely there press of lips to Hendo’s wrist.

God they were tight-rope walking over fire and Jordan had never felt so ready to plummet into flames before.

“You pay at the door of the rooms.” Adam said around a swallow.

Jordan didn’t reply, just let their hands twine as he guided Adam through a string of men and towards the aptly lit doors at the back of the bar.

“Fuck are we doing this?” Adam asked just before he and Jordan reached one of the burlier looking security guards at the payment point. Jordan didn’t miss the way the bouncer eyed him, perhaps having already been informed of Jordan’s handsy attitude when it came to Adam. But he nearly missed it, because Adam Lallana for all intents and purposes, looked nervous. He was gnawing at his bottom lip in much less a seductive way and a much more vulnerable way.

It should have been a red flag that Jordan’s heart sank at the idea of Adam feeling anything but joy.

“If you don’t want to, we won’t.” Jordan said, squeezing Adam’s fingers down at their sides, hoping the security guard who was staring them wouldn’t see.

“Trust me, I want to.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, and before Jordan could pry he felt the hand in his own squeeze back and Jordan was reaching for his wallet.

The payment was a blur really, Jordan just vibrating with the excitement of it all. Sure, it was going to be something he most likely financially regretted but with Adam pressed against him, rubbing his shoulders and breathing obscenities into his ear the entire time well, his wank bank for the rest of his life would thank him anyway. Eventually the payment processed and the guard with a final warning look at Adam opened the door leading to another hallway with blue neon lights stretching up the walls as Lallana led him to a room at the back.

Once inside, the room had a distinctly different vibe from the rest of the club. The interior still matched the overall aesthetic of the bar, except there was only one couch and a small podium in the corner with a pole, for a much more up close and personal experience. There were mirrors in strips in sections around the room that reflected Jordan’s hesitance as he turned to face Adam as the door shut behind him.

He closed the music out of the room, the lights glowing around them and so suddenly Jordan was completely aware that this was the first time they’d ever been properly alone. That thought in itself set his mind off onto two separate tangents.

On one thought he was entirely overcome with the need to run, the rational side of his brain screaming at him that this wasn’t the normal way of meeting someone, of being romantically involved with someone.

The payment at the door was enough of red flag for that.

But the more prevalent part of his mind, was short-circuiting with the sight of Adam underneath the dim lights, tattoos snaking up his glowing skin and teeth abusing his bottom lip, as he just stood there.

“You’re supposed to take a seat.” Adam said quietly, and it was embarrassing how quickly Jordan sat down, near missing the crushed velvet couch all together and earning a huff of amused laughter from Adam who was still chewing on his bottom lip.

Jordan swallowed as Adam dimmed the lights, the music in the background starting up was something he recognised but it may as well have been in another language as Adam fixed him with a playful smirk, hips starting to sway as his body became synonymous with the gentle motions of the song.

He giggled awkwardly, like this was them in the comfort of Jordan’s bedroom, like they were experimenting, and that this wasn’t Adam’s actual job. Or was that just the persona he put on? The one Jordan only seemed to see during Adam’s performances, where he was the playful teasing stripper with the big dick. But the Adam that was dancing for him now, wasn’t that guy, this guy surely was the guy that Jordan had begun to get to know over the past few weeks.

This was the Adam who messaged Jordan recommending he watch a nerdy TV show, this was the Adam who blushed when Jordan commented on his hair, this man who seemed so reserved about Jordan wanting a lap dance despite giving many hundreds in his career as a performer.

Adam walked towards him, body moving like a feline and Jordan felt his tongue fall thick in his mouth at the sight of the dim lights around the room catching off the smooth material of Adam’s underwear.  Adam’s body was strong and slender, tanned and well-groomed and the lingerie he wore only added to the air of class that shrouded his act.

It was hypnotic, Adam was moving to the rhythm, hands running over his body with a teasing slowness and Jordan had never envied anyone’s hands so much in his whole life. God, he wanted to reach out, like a sign that said do not touch, the stigma around it made it all the more desirable. And fuck if Adam wasn’t a freshly painted wall, begging to be marked and fucked up by Jordan’s hands.

Adam was directly between Jordan’s spread legs and the blonde watched Adam’s fingers as they danced down his body before his hand cupped at his cock through the silky material of his underwear. When Jordan thought his arousal was about ready to drown him from the inside, Adam straddled him effortlessly. The gasp Henderson let out was loaded, it was the closest they had ever been, even closer than that night where Adam’s boss had saw them. Adam’s weight was hot and heavy, and Jordan was captivated by the closeness that filled him up like a second soul.

“I can’t do this.” He breathed out, eyes shut as he gripped white hot at the cushions of the couch he was on, Adam’s body still winding into him, their cocks brushing with every downward stroke. Adam’s hot breath was in his ear, tongue a teasing distance. He needed more, he needed to feel, to hold, to grab the man in his lap and throw him on the couch, fucking him like their whole teasing song and dance had been eluding to.

But this was Adam’s job, he was supposed to make men feel this helpless, this desperate. Henderson was just another bank roll.

A client.

“Can’t do what?” Came Adam’s breathless reply and Henderson just let out a stuttering sigh at another blissful body roll that set his skin into a flutter of goose-bumps.

“Can’t stand feelin’ like this.” And he couldn’t, it felt like he was drowning, Adam’s scent, Adam’s touch, Adam’s cock, fuck. It was all sinking his ship and Jordan was waiting for the inevitable submergence under the waters.

“Feels like you’re enjoying it though.” Adam teased, voice deep and chuckle dark as he let out another roll, grinding down harder against Jordan’s crotch who gasped out, arms instinctively wrapping around Adam, hands flat out on his back.

Adam didn’t complain, didn’t move, didn’t yell at him for stepping over the line of what’s acceptable. Instead he let his own hands reach out and hold either side of Jordan’s neck, encouraging their gazes to meet and, fuck. It was so intense, Adam’s gaze focused on him as the music played on overhead keeping their hips in time as they moved against one another, mouths falling slack and sweat prickling across their slick skin.

Jordan’s clothes felt too tight and he dared a glance between them, a moan falling from his lips at the sight of Adam’s huge cock straining against the front of his black underwear, a damp patch at the satin front backing up Jordan’s hopes that maybe this _was_ different for Adam. Maybe he wasn’t just another nameless face willing to throw some fifties at him for his service.

“What do you want me to do, Ads? What am I allowed to do?” Jordan pleaded, wanting fucking anything to take the edge off, to make him stop wanting so desperately.

So wholly.

“You’re not allowed. But I want you to kiss me.” Adam said, and Jordan pulled back, looking all over Adam’s flushed face for any sign that he was just saying that because money talks, he was searching for anything that would make him see through the rose-tinted veil and into the truth but all he saw was Adam’s breathless chest heaving, tongue darting out to lick at his own lips as his eyes stared at Jordan’s mouth.

They surged together at the same time, mouths crashing together in a clumsy meeting of teeth and tongue, but Jordan felt like he was on fire, the man on his lap pressed so tightly against him it was like they were sharing the same skin.

Adam kissed exactly how Jordan had imagined he would. When he’d be lying at home, hand on his hard cock and fist pumping to the thought of Adam’s tongue pressed against his own. Adam kissed rather like how he danced, precise and hard, provocative and teasing.

Jordan let his fingers scratch down Adam’s back enjoying the moan that tumbled into his mouth and the cock that twitched against his own on his lap. He pushed them up into a standing position then, Adam’s legs wrapping around him instinctively, mouths too hungry to pull apart from one another. Jordan stumbled into the wall, Adam’s back pinned against it and their mouths meeting in a clash of teeth and tongue once more. It was utterly feral and Jordan could safely say he’d never been so enraptured by sex before, but in that moment he knew Adam could ask him of anything and he’d see it done with a hard cock and an eagerness to impress.

Adam seemed to enjoy the power change, hands in fists at the front of Jordan’s shirt and teeth catching to tug at the blonde’s lip whenever possible. Jordan’s one hand slipped down the mirror on the wall at the side of them, hips idly rocking into the hot hardness of the dancer who was blowing pretty much everything Jordan had come to expect from their dynamic out of the water.

It was dangerous in of itself having a crush on a dancer, getting a little handsy and running the risk of getting Adam sacked or worst Jordan getting fucking arrested. But the danger seemed to reach unprecedented levels of fucking stupid when he had the guy against a wall in a room, the pair going at it like horny teenagers.

Christ, Jordan was naive as fuck if he thought the room wasn’t ladled with security cameras.  But what did it matter? Adam was under his hands and their mouths were kissing and biting at one another after too long of flirting for the sake of flirting. It finally amounted to something and Jordan’s cock was so incredibly grateful.

After what felt like an age of rutting and his dick threatening to come in his pants, an alarm clock sounded out and Jordan pulled his face away. Adam’s eyes were still closed as they parted, eyelashes casting shadows across his flushed cheekbones and he seemed so blissed out that it took all of Jordan’s resolve not to lean in and kiss him again. He had to level himself, even if his head was in the clouds it couldn’t afford to be, and the situation caught up to him faster than he imagined it would. He let out a deep breath, stepping back and placing Adam’s feet back on the floor who followed Jordan into reality, turning to the clock and pressing stop before the pair looked at one another again.

God Jordan imagined he looked utterly fucked too, hair out of place and clothes creased and mussed because Adam looked like the definition of sin and Jordan’s cock was still so painfully thick in his trousers.

“Times up.” Adam said simply, and Jordan nodded vacantly, unsure what to say now. How to approach the elephant in the room, the fact that he was still vibrating with desire and he knew kissing Adam and having a lapdance just wasn’t enough anymore. He thought it would be, foolishly thought he’d get Adam out of his system but somehow Jordan hadn’t foreseen Adam being able to hack through and burrow himself deeper into Jordan’s mind.

“Right.”

“I didn’t even get a chance to take my clothes off.” Adam laughed, smoothing his hair down and looking back at Jordan who couldn’t do anything but nod dumbly.

“That is a shame.” He whispered, afraid he’d shatter the moment that hung between them like a welcome back banner, Adam’s fingers moving to trace non-existent lines along Jordan’s jawline. His dark eyes followed his own path, sparkling under the lights around them, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted around words he didn’t look able to say.

“That is most certainly going to get me into trouble again.” Was what he chose to say, but he didn’t move his touch and Jordan let his face nudge into it, smiling despite himself when a warm hand cupped his flushed cheek.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Adam, I just …well it appears as though I can’t keep my hands off you.” His hands had somehow found their way to Adam’s hips and it just kind of proved his point really.

“Then don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan asked and then the alarm was blearing again, and Adam was muttering expletives under his breath, smacking the clock silent and stepping out of Jordan’s embrace who felt instantly colder for it.

“Look, I gotta go and I’d probably suggest you getting out of here now cos all that’s gonna show up on the security cameras. But we’ll sort something.” Adam turned towards the door, adjusting his cock with a hiss and yanking open the door to the hallway where the music sounded louder somehow and maybe it should have been worrying that the door to the main room was open.

“You promise?” Jordan asked the two stood in the threshold together. He didn’t know why he asked, especially as Adam looked at him with an unreadable look. His eyes were wide, sparkling and sapping the light from the room to fill them.

Jordan barely noticed the security guards approaching him as Adam’s hand twined with his own, squeezing his fingers for a moment and Jordan felt all the tension seep out of him from that alone.

“Of course.” And it really did sound like a promise.

 


	13. John

 

If there was a song to sum up John’s life he was almost positive it would centre around him being completely mental. _Does that make me crazy? Possibly_. He let out a deep breath running his hands over his hair as he eyed his reflection in the classroom door’s window panel. It was ridiculous really, he could practically hear Maguire laughing at him in his head. And he’d agree, honestly. He danced all day every-day on a podium in front of hundreds of men and yet he was nervous to say hello to just one?

He had to admit, since his conversation with the lads at work, they really had put the fear of God into him. Not that he was afraid necessarily, but he was coming to terms with an increasingly alarming pace that what he was describing was very much a stupid little crush. He noted his own behavioural shifts whenever Kyle was around. He’d note the quickening of his pulse, the slick sweat that started in the middle of his palms and prickled at his hairline whenever it was just the two of them. The incessant need to keep looking across the lecture hall to look at Kyle, to observe the furrow of his brow when he was in thought, or the way his left hand made elegant swooping gestures as he scribbled down notes. And the complete and utter heart stopping moment when he’d attempt to steal a glance at the older man and get caught red-handed with Kyle looking directly back at him. John found himself hanging around the classroom whilst Kyle grabbed his things, the two going to the library together or the courtyard so Kyle could vape, and it was becoming a routine that John was endlessly fascinated by his ability to want to uphold day in day out.

“If I knew people were making an effort, I would have scrubbed up a bit myself.” A voice caught him off guard and he span around in surprise, hand on his heart and eyes falling onto a smirking Kyle Walker.

Yep, it was a crush all right.

“Can never look too good right?” He said, smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket and shoving his hands in his pockets in an effort to look relaxed. Kyle’s eyes followed the movement and his lips tweaked into a smile that made John think he hadn’t quite mastered cool and aloof yet.

“I think if anyone could, it would be you.” Kyle said simply, and John felt that swoop of butterflies in his belly like the ridiculous Year 7 girl he’d grown to expect of himself.

“Did you get the assignment done?” They fell into step, doing their usual routine of meeting outside the on-campus café to grab a coffee to take to their morning lecture so John didn’t really have to think too much as they went down the familiar hallway and down the stairs on the right.

“Yeah, though my job isn’t very forgiving at giving me time to get it done like.”

“What do you do then?” John asked.

“IT consultant. You know, like every other bloke in London. How about you?” Kyle rolled his eyes playfully as he spoke, sounding more northern than possible and it made John fail to fight back a smile because his accent was somehow thicker than John’s own.

“I don’t think you’d believe me even if I told you.”

“Juggler? No wait, you run the machines for a really specific manufacturer. Like you make the little triangles that connect bath plugs to their chains.” Kyle rambled, and John felt his laugh fill the space between them as he bumped their shoulders together, the smaller man’s grin softening at the gesture. There was an unprecedented ease in which he found himself falling into the gravitational pull of Kyle, he’d found their humour was one in the same. They both enjoyed watching football and would often spend most of their lectures messaging on their chat about matches and wrong calls made by Wanker referees. But it was the other moments in that chat window that John found himself most drawn to. When Kyle would send him a meme unprompted, with a message following shortly after that said ‘ _reminded me of you x’_ or if he’d message Kyle saying he couldn’t make the lecture, then a few hours later several photos would come through of the notes Kyle made so John didn’t feel lost in the next session.

“Honestly, you’ll never guess in a million years.” John said with a smug smile.

“You’re a stripper!” Kyle bluntly replied perhaps a little too loud for John’s liking as he turned wild eyes on the shorter man, hushing him instantly and not really registering in his panic the way Kyle’s eyes lit up and mouth fell open.

“How the fuck did you guess that?” He chastised as they got to the bar at the student coffee house those behind the counter, probably didn’t hear but were definitely drawn to their conversation because Kyle’s comical expression and loud taxed laughter was enough of a beacon for that.

“Holy shit! For real? I was only joking! That was the next absurd thing on my mind!” Kyle laughed, shaking his head through surprise at his own guess. John’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, as he watched Kyle order their drinks, paying and leading John to the end of the counter where all the sugars and milks were.

There was a silence that was just on the precipice of as Kyle stirred for another minute or so and it was clear that John had to be the one the break the energy brewing between them.

“And by the way, less of the absurd thank you very much! I have a killer body under all these clothes.” John opted for with a nervous cough. He kept a close eye on Kyle and he couldn’t see anything in his expression that could have reflected disdain or disgust and then the older man glanced up, fixing him with a warm smile and a chuckle.

And that affirmed that entirely.

“Trust me that I don’t doubt.” There was a cheeky undertone to that which John definitely shouldn’t have preened under the light of. “Christ, stripper huh?”

“Yeah, I’m used to that reaction.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to ignore the part of his brain that kept telling him that Kyle could still find it totally weird and off-putting.

_Off-putting for what Stones?_

“Yeah that’s erm. Cool job. Erm nice.” Kyle coughed awkwardly, finger toying with the lid on his to-go cup.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say someone is feeling slightly nervous.” John giggled, fingers reaching out to pinch at the pink blush settling high on his classmate’s cheek. Kyle swatted him away with a shrug, trying and failing to feign a cool demeanour. 

“Nah I’m just offended. I thought my job was the sexiest in the class.” He said looking up at John through his lashes.

“Sexy, huh?”

“How does your girlfriend feel about it? Like must be hard for her, knowing you grind up other women all day?” Of course, he remembers mentioning Emily during one of their group discussions, Kyle must have been there listening intently and remembering.

God why did that make John feel like an arsehole?

“She doesn’t mind because I don’t grind up women.” He let one of his brows tweak at Kyle’s questioning expression “I grind up men.” He finished simply taking a sip of his coffee and perhaps enjoying the change of emotion on Kyle’s expression a little too much.  It was rather comical how it went through the motions at that admission, eyes wide, then mouth opening and closing as the words settled into his mind and looked as though it physically effected him if the swallow and cough that followed was anything to go by.

“I’m convinced you’re trying to kill me, Stones.” He muttered into his own coffee cup, foot nudging against John’s in a way that was slightly too coincidental to be an accident as he stepped away to begin their walk to class.

“Couldn’t have that could we? Then who would I drink my pre-lecture coffee’s with?”

~*~

 **Kylie** :  
_So where do you strip?_

John was trying desperately to concentrate, but in his defence his lecturer had been whittling on at an impressive monotonous rate and his interest finally piqued at a message from Kyle vibrating in his jacket pocket.

 **Stoner** :  
_The shower, before a bath, whenever I’m changing my clothes_

John had a habit of making himself laugh and he couldn’t help but smile at his phone when Kyle’s reply from across the room came through at first as a string of eyeroll emojis.

 **Kylie:**  
_You’re such a dick :’)_

 **Stoner:**  
_Some fancy club you couldn’t afford :P_

He tried to ignore visions of Kyle coming to watch him dance, of the lads all greeting the man with hugs and smiles. He’d never introduced the lads to Emily, told them he’d like to keep his professional and private life separate. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth at how effortlessly his mind was going through scenarios of Kyle drinking with the lads and how much he’d get on with the likes of Maguire and Tripps.

 **Kylie:**  
_Well that’s a given! I’m nearly 30 and live alone in central London, of course Im broke!_

He wanted to delve into that, wanted to ask Kyle why someone like him was alone. He was funny, he had a great job, he was caring, and he was motivated if his return to education was anything to go by. All in all Kyle was a catch, which was probably why John’s fingers seemed to type for him and he had to lean back in his chair and physically stretch out the cringe

 **Stoner:**  
_I was gonna ask if u fancied the pub after this shockingly boring lecture, but if ur too poor, I’ll ask Phil instead_

It wasn’t a big deal necessarily, he’d been to the pub a few times with Kyle but that had been after Friday lectures when he wasn’t due in work until the morning. And it would never be just the two of them but instead Faye or Jenny tagging along maybe even Jamie and Ryan too. It would be safe with other people there, because Kyle would sit on the other-side of the table, hand wrapped around a pint and an arm thrown casually over Jenny’s chair as he’d radiate charm and good humour. John found he’d catch his gaze though, even from across the table eyes looking back at Stones who’d be too slow in his efforts to look away.

But him asking Kyle out alone erased those around them, put them into a world where it was just them sat across from one another and John able to reach out and touch if he even so much as dared to think it a possibility.

His phone vibrated against his desk and Laura who was 20 years his senior tutted wildly from beside him. He’d definitely have to have a word with himself at some point about the way he scrambled at his phone to read the message sent to him.

 **Kylie:**  
_I can have a tap water if worst comes to worst, just don’t ask Phil! No one deserves to be bored to death! Espesh male strippers with a secret love for Pumpkin Spiced lattes._ _😉_

There was that dreaded swoop again, the one that plagued and teased him whenever he so much thought about Kyle and John had to admit, he really was signing his own death warrant.

**Stoner:  
** _You promised you wouldn’t hold that against me! :’(_

**Kylie:**  
_Secret’s safe with me, Stones! Both of your secrets x_

Yeah, he was a little bit totally fucked to be honest.

~*~

There was something unforgivably sinful about Kyle and the way he was fixing John with a raised eyebrow and a smile that had his tongue darting out the capture his bottom lip in concentration whilst taking his next shot at the pool table.

Well, it definitely didn’t exactly help John’s dilemma in the slightest.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew how the air around them had started to feel, the tension settling thick over them like the slow pour of honey and it had been happening with increasing speed dependent on how many pints they drank between them as the night went on.  He did his best to ignore at first, convincing himself it was just a friendly outing and his mates didn’t know what they were talking about. He tried his hardest to ignore by shifting his eyes away whenever Kyle would bend down for a shot in front of him, would turn away and grab his pint whenever the other man would throw a flirty comment into the mix.

Except his courage seemed to come out in full force the more alcohol ran riot within his blood stream and soon enough he let his eyes linger on the curve of Kyle’s arse in his jeans, would bite his lip and shrug whenever a flirty comment was made, more often than not throwing his own into the mix and enjoying a little too much the way that Walker responded with increasing interest.

Another few drinks ordered, and more bodies filled the pub, John and Kyle playing more games of pool and putting smaller amounts of space between them whenever they passed one another.

“Reckon you can give me a hand?” John asked, unsure where exactly that sudden confidence came from, but the way Kyle tapped his cue on the floor, eyes pinning him in place gave him only a few seconds of regret. It was a slow tease of a move, reminiscent of how John would tease the crowd during a show, letting his hands slide to the ribbon of his underwear at the insinuation of more working up the audience until his name resounded in their mind and the image of him was all they could see when they would shut their eyes.

Kyle did just that act as after a few moments he leaned his cue against the wall and walked around the table towards him. John kept his eyes trained to him as he stalked forwards in his advance, every bit as intimidating as a tiger approaching its unknowing prey. Kyle finally settled beside him, looking at John’s bent over form and Stones fucking heard him breath out and it was enough to send a spark of interest straight to John’s groin.

The dangerous game was getting increasingly riskier, like taking a sharp turn on a motorbike with no helmet, like running across a train track despite the headlights blearing ahead. The twitch of his cock was so much more than just John being drunk, it was a result of an entire song and dance and in many ways, it eluded to the potential finale that made John’s body thrum up a storm.

“Pretty straight forward shot from where I’m stood.” Kyle said with a knowing smirk that didn’t help the tempestuous nature of John’s wild thoughts. “I think you just need to sort out your stance a little.” God he was so close now, bending over the younger man who thought he was set to drown in Kyle’s cologne clinging to his clothes like a second skin.

“You hold it like this.” Kyle continued, one hand closing around John’s at the end of the cue, body shifting so that he was pressed almost flat against him over the table. The heat alone was enough to make John shudder as he felt the warmth of Kyle’s other fingers clasp around his at the tip of the pool cue. He let out a test wriggle of a finger, allowing himself the indulgence of sliding the digit between Kyle’s own. He wanted it to be enough, he thought with Kyle pressed against him in an echo of his stance that it would be the realisation he needed that it was just a stupid phase and nothing more. Except his body was craving for something more, he wondered what would happen if Kyle’s leg slid between his own, knee teasing at his crotch. He thought about how it would feel if Kyle’s hand slid up his body, resting at his waist and fingering his shirt into a fist until his skin was revealed.

“Something tells me you know how to play pool, Stones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John asked in mock innocence, tilting his head and looking up at Kyle through his eyelashes. Fuck it was a mistake, from this angle their faces were just a breath apart, they were sharing air, they were sharing space. It was wildly inappropriate, and it was wildly electric. Kyle swallowed, and John couldn’t control what the movement of that Adam’s apple did to his face and Kyle saw it too, because his hazel eyes darkened and his grip on John’s hands tightened.

“If I didn’t know any better Stones, I’d think you were trying to flirt with me?”

“Trying? Does that mean I gotta try harder?” Surely that would have been the perfect time for him to nip it in the bud. To say of course not I have a girlfriend, or of course not I’m straight because the longer he looked at the older man the harder it was the admit either of those things.

“Fuck.” Kyle said in a breath, letting out a laugh as he dropped his head to John’s shoulder who really didn’t want the contact to have as much as an effect on him as it did. “So, you dance for blokes then?”

“Yeah.” John said quietly, any louder and his voice would have given more away than he already had. He could retract what he’d put forward so far, but the alcohol flowing through his bloodstream made everything feel lighter, safer to say out loud. Kyle shifted against him and the static between them crackled and fizzled and John bowed his head which was spinning with every movement he noted the older man take.

He was hyper-aware of all things Kyle.

“You get your kit off for them?” Kyle was asking but his tone didn’t bleed disdain as John had often come to expect from conversations about his profession, instead it was infinitely worse. He could live with Kyle finding him disgusting because it would stem the arousal that derailed his thought process when he realised Kyle was trying to paint a picture in his mind.

Pictures were innocent enough, however. Men like Kyle wanted to see John naked every night. It was no different, surely?

“Yeah, I wear tight underwear. Made of satin.” John said voice failing at keeping level as he felt Kyle’s ragged breathed blowing hot air against his cheek. The younger man flexed, taking the shot finally and noting that even as the white pocketed the yellow, he and Kyle failed to move from their position. “And leather harnesses.”

“Do you ever take it all off on stage?” Kyle asked in a whisper and John would regret turning his head to meet his gaze because their mouths were a breath apart again but this time he could feel Kyle’s hard cock pressed against his arse and John had to plant his feet harder against the ground to resist the urge that seemed to possess him, to just rock back into that heat. They were in some seedy pub in a London back alleyway and the fact that Kyle was this turned on and this unashamed was doing more to his own cock than sober John would care to admit.

“Yeah, private room. Strip tease.” He rose from his position, Kyle’s eyes following him the entire way like a puppy, all round eyes and parting lips. John leaned against the pool table, noting how he’d left his legs open slightly. Kyle read the situation, stepping between his thighs and putting his hands flat either side of John’s hips on the pool tables edge.

Match abandoned.

He was still holding his cue, one slick hand wrapped around the wood, the other shifting with an air of suggestion that bought even more colour to Kyle’s cheeks who licked his lips enticingly. He probably tasted like beer and those mints he was always sucking on in class and John tilted his head back to stop himself from lunging forwards in a blur of white-hot arousal.

“Nude lapdance.” John added.

“Fuck me.” Kyle muttered under his breath, fisting his hands on the pool table and looking down between their bodies. He must have clocked the erection John was too far gone to conceal because he let out an audible groan that did nothing to quash the need that was bordering on desperation “Let’s go get another drink yeah?” Kyle said, just when the images of Kyle on his knees between his spread thighs were running away with him. John blinked, the pair separating, and John hated the flurry of guilt that seeped through the cracks in the atmosphere around them, Kyle smiling sadly as he turned away to the bar, leaving John with an aching cock and a pounding heart.

It was awkward when Kyle returned with two more pints, passing one to John and then heading passed the pool table and out towards the smoking area. The walk there wasn’t a long one but it may as well have been miles as John followed, apology thick on his tongue and guilt hovering over him like a black rain cloud.

Kyle sat beneath the heater lamp near the back of the garden, ivy stretching up the chipped white brick behind him. John sat opposite him and immediately took a gulp from his beer. He never really liked the taste of beer, but he liked how it made his head spin but with Kyle looking at him imploringly it felt rather like he’d gotten carried away.

“So,” Kyle began, and John didn’t want to look up from his hands, but he did. He was learning quickly that Kyle wasn’t a man who could be ignored as he eyed John across the table with a soft and patient gaze. “This is a messy situation, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t have to be.” He shrugged, because it didn’t? Nothing was put forward saying they had to do anything with the flirtation they were batting around like a sexually charged game of tennis. But then Kyle was sighing, and John’s attention was solely and entirely focused on him.

“I’m gonna be completely honest John. You’re a nice lad, a laugh. I enjoy spending time with you-“

“But?” He seemed to have adopted a habit of being entirely too eager. If Kyle noticed, he didn’t mention, just scrubbed his hands over his face.

“But whenever I’m with you, I wanna rip your clothes off.” His words tumbled out his mouth around a breathy laugh and John shouldn’t have felt so high at those words. Because those words sounded like trouble, they heightened the game they were playing to new levels and so suddenly this wasn’t just something he’d conjured up in his head. It was real and had the potential for real consequences. “You know, when I was younger, about 15 I realised I was gay. It was hard, you know? Like I’d spent most of puberty wondering what was wrong with me, I got there eventually but I’ve adopted a habit over the years that never exactly helped the process.”

“What’s that?” John asked, heart aching for a Kyle he never knew, sat feeling broken and defeated before becoming the self-assured man who was pretty much everything John wished he was himself.

“I’m attracted to straight blokes. I always somehow end up wantin’ what I can’t have.” His laugh was sad as he distracted himself his a sip of his pint and the guilt that seemed to be a permanent fixture inside John let out a deep pang throughout his body at that.

_What I can’t have._

“I’ve never fancied a bloke before.” _Because you could have me._ “I’ve never thought about it, it’s never been something I ever thought I’d have to think about.” He shrugged, hating how weak he sounded.

“And you fancy us?” Kyle asked, and John stared at his fingers as they scratched at the table, staring until his vision blurred. There was not enough alcohol in his bloodstream, not enough of a fuzzy feeling to smudge his rationality and yet his cheeks were flushed, and his lungs felt like they were about to collapse. He nodded his head meekly, unsure why it was so embarrassing as a grown ass man to sit there in front of someone and admit that. Because it was? It was embarrassing to admit to Kyle that he had been so self-assured until him, that he didn’t know himself as much as he eluded to. That Kyle had a mysterious power hold over John and he was pretty much helpless.

Kyle let his hands reach for John’s stroking the skin of his knuckles and growling out in apparent annoyance before dropping a soft kiss to the back of Stones’ hand.

The kiss caused goosebumps to smatter along his arms and he suddenly wanted to do the same, to place his lips across the negative space between Kyle’s tattoos, to run his tongue over each imperfection that told the story of Kyle’s life. He didn’t know when the feelings had boiled over, but he knew the heat in the kitchen was reaching breaking point and he squeezed their fingers together harder just in case it would be their last time.

“You’re literally every wet dream I’ve ever had, I reckon.” Kyle said, one hand scrubbing over his face as he snorted. John swallowing down the butterflies that threatened to spill out his mouth at the admission. They tasted sour, tangling in his throat and turning his joy into a mass of broken wings.

“But I’ve got a girlfriend.” He said quietly, looking down at where their hands were still joined over the table between their two pints. He dropped his head forward, thumb rubbing along Kyle’s smooth skin as he echoed Kyle’s tired sigh.

“Yeah, you have.”

“I know, I feel like a cunt.” He admitted shaking his head, but there was Kyle, ready to fight away his bad thoughts as he squeezed John’s fingers, bringing their gazes back to one another. John hated how he liked the way he looked within a sea of hazel.

“Nah, you’re not. You would have done something by now if you were.”

“Is this not enough?” John asked holding up their hands for emphasis and watching with something akin to disappointment as Kyle eyed where they were joined. He didn’t move away as he first assumed he would, instead he gave John’s fingers another gentle squeeze his other hand rising to settle over the top of John’s knuckles. Trapping their touch in a warm solace.

“This is innocent enough.” Kyle said simply despite it being the most complicated thing in the world.

“I think we both know that’s a lie, Kyle.”

“I think so too.” His words were spoken barely above a whisper as they sat and watched the world pass them by, hand in hand leaving John wondering how the fuck he managed to turn his life upside down after so many years of being sure he knew who he was.

A part of him blamed South of Heaven, but a lot of him blamed Kyle fucking Walker and his attack on John’s resolve.

 


	14. Dele

 

“Nah trust me, it’ll be a good night!” Dele began excitedly, hand-in-hand with Eric who nodded in agreement. Marcus was stood with them, eyeing the club suspiciously as the queue of men reached up the stairs from the basement and out between the enclosing buildings around them. Dele recognised instantly that Rashford may have felt slightly weirded out by the invite. But in his defence, Marcus had text him saying he was bored due to Jesse working, and Dele _had said_ that Eric was taking him to Adam’s workplace and it wasn’t exactly a secret that Adam was a stripper.

So, Marcus knew what he was signing up for.

He had absolutely no right to look so pouty.

“No offense but I’m not about naked men.” Marcus said, nose scrunched up and Eric laughed as they joined the back of the queue. It was a brisk night and Dele deeply regretted sacrificing warmth for fashion purposes as he shifted on his feet in an attempt to warm himself.

He had to admit to himself that he did look good, a well-fitted black shirt and tight white jeans combo. It was a favourite of Dele’s and if Eric’s eyebrows had risen into his hairline when he’d greeted him, well he supposed that made it all the better.

“It’s not just that, it’s expensive drinks and good vibes. Adam has been proper biggin’ it up.” Dele said pressing against Eric as he surveyed Marcus. He seemed on edge, shifting awkwardly on his feet as the line progressively got shorter.

“Yeah but no offense Del, this is kinda _your_ thing.”

“It better fuckin’ not be!’” Eric piped up, eyes still fixed on his phone as he typed away, Dele just rolling his eyes at his boyfriend.

“It’s blokes dancin’ but come on, even though it’s not your thing it could be a right laugh!”

“Adam just text and said he isn’t working tonight for some reason?” Eric said, looking up from his phone with a frown. Dele eyed him with a curious expression. Judging by the way Eric’s brow was knitted as he tapped out a hasty reply, he’d come to the conclusion that the reason for Adam’s absence wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “He said my name’s still on the guest list just under the name John Stones. He’s gonna text him to put plus two on the guestlist. You know, for our tag along.”

“You’re not taggin’ along.” Dele countered Eric’s dry humour just as Marcus’ mouth opened to protest. Or pout. Or both.

“Sure, you are.”

“You’re not. Ignore Eric, he was dropped on his head as a child and as a result has forgotten what manners are!” Dele said, the end of his sentence directed at his boyfriend who he punched in the arm for his contribution to the conversation.

“I think Jesse suffered the same kind of fate as a kid!” Marcus laughed.

“Jesse? He’s the weird jittery one from the other night?” Eric asked, and Dele really thought his eyes were about to roll clean out of his heads before they even made it to the front of the line.

“He’s not usually weird and jittery.” Marcus added with a shake of his head that if Jesse was present would have found adorable and would have probably jumped on his back and exaggeratedly thanked the guy for sticking up for him. “He’s going through the motions at work. He’s been under a lot of stress.”

When Dele had first met the lads, it had been at college and they were all stuck doing the same boring Geography AS level and Dele had caught on pretty quickly that the pair were friendship goals and had been for the entire time Dele had known them. They were annoyingly inseparable which is probably why the whole group felt the difference since Jesse landed his new bar tending job.

“We haven’t seen much of him recently, hence why Marcus needs a temporary best friend.”

“You’re making me wish I hadn’t come now.” The younger man said with an eye roll.

“Nonsense. We’re gonna get in there, drink stupidly expensive drinks and see what all the fuss is about! Plus, if it ends up being shit you are allowed to pick the next place we go to instead!” Eric said with a smile, throwing an arm around Marcus shoulders who cackled pushing the older man away and Dele felt the tension sap from his mate that lasted the entire queue time.

He looked a little nervous as they stood in front of the bouncers who ran through the scary sounding rules before directing them through the doors passed the cloakroom.

“Fuck.” Marcus said upon entrance to the main room, his dark eyes taking in all the club had to offer. Dele had to agree, it was ridiculous and not at all what he expected. He thought of many words when him and Eric were in the taxi on the way, words like sleazy and dirty but none of them sprang to mind as they made their way tentatively to the bar. It seemed to be peak hours for observing man on man dancing so it unsurprisingly took them a while before they got served.

Eric making about thirty thousand comments about drink prices the entire transaction of course was a lovely bonus to an excruciatingly long wait.

“Just overheard some bloke say two French strippers are up next, apparently they’re well good! If that’s what you’re into.” Eric said with a raised brow as he passed Marcus his drink and then Dele a cocktail that looked too pretty to actually drink.

“Tonight, it is! We’re getting into the spirit of the evening Eric. Stop looking like I had to drag you here kicking and screaming.” Dele turned towards Marcus who was sipping his drink with an amused gaze fixated on the doctor. “Seriously he’s gassed to be here. He’s just being annoyingly obtuse.”

“Hey, don’t scare the poor boy! You’re making it out like I’m some super gay uber-perv!”

“Honey, if the shoe fits. Wear it.” Dele rolled his eyes at his boyfriend who flipped him off mockingly before he turned on his heels to find somewhere for them to sit.

“Youse are mental I swear. I’m gonna go to the toilet, I’ll find you in a bit, alright.” Marcus said, squeezing Dele’s arm who nodded gesturing towards the seats Eric was hovering awkwardly near.

He watched his friend leave, weaving through throngs of men until he was out of sight. He wasn’t exactly worried about Marcus because he was for all intents and purposes a grown ass man. But he was also a straight guy in a gay club so how comfortable could he actually be?

“I don’t see the point in bars like this, despite you thinking that I live in these kinds of places just cos my best mate’s a stripper.” Eric voiced as Dele approached, the pair taking a seat on the smooth leather of one of the booths. Dele smirked as he sat beside him closely, their thighs touching. It was incredible really; the bar was sleek and oozed class despite what it actually was. It emitted a strangely sensual vibe and it became quickly apparent what people saw in the joint. 

It was sexy. Dele didn’t know what it was exactly that was so sexy about it, but it just _was_. The lights, the choice of music, the vibe. It had it all and it kind of made Dele want to fuck, so he got it. Really he did, he got what the sad old blokes who spunked all their cash saw in the place.

It was pretty much a gay man’s wet dream. Or gay man heaven or whatever.

“No lie, I see the appeal. Gorgeous naked men thrusting their cocks in your face. What’s not to like?” He teased, taking a swig of his colourful drink and reveling a little at the way Eric rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“On second thoughts, I instantly regret bringing you here.” Eric’s voice was thick, darkening just enough to pique Dele’s interest who felt himself pressing that little closer, tongue darting out to swipe at the straw in his drink, just to watch the way his boyfriend licked his lips, eyes following the motion and fists clenching like he was trying his hardest not to give into the play Dele was offering on the table.

It was a game they were growing increasingly familiar with, one would deal the cards and the other would try to keep a poker-face, but perhaps it was the mood of the setting around them because Eric’s resolve looked like it was melting away by the second.

“Why’s that?” Coy was always fun, and it pressed at just the right amount of Eric’s buttons because he was placing his drink on the table and twisting to face his boyfriend.

“Guess I’m not thrilled about the idea of you seeing these beefcakes roaming around.” Eric shifted again, draping an arm over the back of their seat and trapping Dele in a space that smelt distinctly like caramel coffee and Dele’s cologne that had been used without asking. God, Eric really was the hottest guy in the room, with his simplistic aura that seemingly demanded attention without much effort at all it was more enticing than the doctor gave credit for.

“And why wouldn’t you be ok with that, Dr Dier?”

“Because you see me too often with gravy dripping down my chin whilst I eat Sunday lunch in my pants on the sofa.” Eric’s hands were running along Dele’s thighs, the younger man feeling warm under the attention that was solely focused on him despite the men dancing around. Eric wasn’t interested, was too busy staring at Dele, fingers tracing the folds of his clothes in a flirtation that made his skinny jeans seem somehow tighter.

“What makes you think that isn’t my exact idea of sexy?” Dele mocked, taking another sip from his drink before it too was discarded beside Eric’s, the pair settling together, and Eric’s smirk grew a little at the insinuation.

God Dele liked this game.

“Well it’s not exactly the same kind of image as an oiled-up muscle bound beef-cake in a stringy little thong is it?” Eric’s hand was stroking along Dele’s inner thigh and the younger man felt his breath hitch.

“Trust me, tonight when it’s just me and you, I won’t be thinking about these lot.” Dele let his fingers curl into the front of Eric’s maroon button up, eyes staring at those pouting lips that shimmered with the path the doctor’s tongue was running across them. “I’ll be ripping your pants off, gravy stained chin and all.” Dele ended pretending to rub his thumb across a smudge on Eric’s chin who leaned into the touch even as he huffed out a laugh.

“You’re incredibly sexy when you’re attempting to re-build the debris of my self-esteem.” Eric’s words were whispers as his mouth peppered little kisses along the expanse of Dele’s throat. The younger man tilted backwards, enjoying the hands that found his body his own fingers teasing still at the front of a creased shirt as the others danced along the nape of his boyfriend’s neck.

“That’s my job isn’t it.” He teased cock hardening at the feel of teeth nipping at the juncture of his shoulder.

“Thank you for doing me such a huge favour, Del-boy.”

“Do me a favour.” Dele asked, rising from his seat and enjoying the way Eric watched his movements with wide eyes. He didn’t go far, simply settled on Eric’s lap who groaned at the arrival, hands immediately back on Dele’s legs.

“Anything, baby.” He all but purred into his ear and Dele smirked, leaning back and pointing towards the stage where the main act was on.

“Watch them.”

“Why would I when I’ve got the sexiest man on my lap right now?” Eric whispered running his tongue over Dele’s pulse who couldn’t help but grind down a little. It earned him a groan as a response, Eric’s teeth catching on Dele’s skin like he was trapping the moan against his very throat. Eric’s hands found Dele’s hips, finding a way beneath his shirt to stroke along the exposed slither of skin that was breaking out in goosebumps despite the heat radiating between them.

“Watch them.” Dele demanded darkly, hands on his boyfriend’s legs as he let his body focus on the rhythm of the music the strippers in front of them were dancing along to. “Tell me what they’re doing.”

“Are you not going to watch them?” Eric asked, fingers scratching feather-light across Dele’s stomach and sides beneath his shirt.

“I am. But I think I like the sound of your voice more than you do.” And God if that wasn’t true. Eric was often a mix when it came to words. He could be full of utter bullshit, spouting out the most absurd of things one minute and then the next only communicate in a serious of pre-historic grunts. But in bed was when Eric’s words really came alive, when the simplest whisper would have Dele’s back arching and body demanding more.

“The smaller one is on his knees, hands wrapped around the pole. Tribal tattoo guy is thrusting his crotch in his face.” Eric gripped at Dele’s hips keeping him in place as he began to set up a rhythm of his small thrusts, cock feeling all the more inviting by the second as Dele watched the stage.

The men were beautiful, like two Bernini sculptures coming alive under the spotlights that set their golden hair into halos, but it was Eric who was Dele’s anchor in the waves of the moment.

“By the feel of it, Dier. I’d think you were into French boys.” Dele teased, smirking as he felt a twitch of a hard cock beneath him and suddenly their jeans felt like too much between them.

“Think it has more to do with the man pretending that he’s not grinding down on my dick, to be honest.”

“Giving you a preview of tonight. Might have to give this whole lapdance thing a go myself.” Dele twisted a little then and found two dark eyes pinning him to the spot, a rosebud mouth opening and closing, and love-drunk Eric was Dele’s favourite Eric of them all.

“Fuck Dele, you gonna give me a strip tease when we get home?” He bit his lip, like the thought itself was too good to be true, like he was picturing it and Dele’s cock had honestly never been harder at the thought either.

“I’ll take it all off, have your eyes everywhere, but you’re not allowed to touch.”

“I’m gonna take your underwear off with my teeth, I promise you that.” Another wet kiss was pressed to his throat, hands seemingly everywhere at once and fuck. It was just the right amount of enough. He still had his sanity, still knew they weren’t alone but that was a ticking time bomb in of itself.

“Imagine if that was us up there, doing this but under spotlights with everyone in the room watching us.”

“Fuck Dele, you’re gonna be the death of me baby.”

Dele seemed to be finding out little jigsaw pieces along the way of their relationship that once slotted together was beginning to take form of a built-up picture of Eric. Another one for the jigsaw was Eric having a slight voyeur kink. Dele could get on board with that, was already playing out scenarios of him watching Eric wank. Of them going into a public bathroom and wanking each other stupid with the idea of someone walking in at any moment spurring them on.

It was safe to say that Eric was surprising him in all the right ways. Similarly, their relationship had come as a surprise to him all together. The way Eric had entered his life was rather like the initial boot of a football in a school playground, you could hear the impact and you just knew the ball was going to land and that it might hit you.

And well, Eric had certainly hit him. With the force of freight train.

It had been a pretty unextraordinary day, just Dele’s usual jaunt to his local gym that resulted in a collision of two bodies and then Dele kneeling down to gather his toiletries that had been the casualty of the meeting. And that’s when he looked into the eyes of Eric, their hands holding at the same shampoo bottle and well Dele felt his throat dry out and his fingers tremble with the heat radiating from the hand on top of his own.

And Eric had surprised him pretty much none stop since and Dele wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Fuck Dele are you seeing how these two are dancing?” Eric’s voice felt like a fire that flickered along the underside of his skin and Dele hissed into the heat, pressing back against his boyfriend and licking his lips in an attempt to supress the need for more. To say more. God if it were just the two of them he would, Dele would say all the things running through his mind, he’d talk about how Eric’s body heat felt like it was going to melt him all together. He’d talk about how the blokes on stage looked like they were going to eat each other alive.

But he was painfully aware of the populated room, he let his eyes roam around. No one was paying them any interest anyway, all their eyes were on the stage, the bar, the people they’d come with. But he still felt so exposed, like it was he himself grinding on the stage in barely-there underwear.

A man was stood in the corner beside the doors glowing red and blue and the hint of familiarity in him made Dele’s movements falter. Eric seemed not to notice, he was still thrusting his hips upwards in teasingly slow ministrations, cock hard and breath rolling out hotly against the shell of Dele’s ear.

“Yeah.” Dele said in some kind of distant response to Eric’s words. His brows had furrowed his eyes following the way the man spoke to the two men in suits either side of him. He was wearing barely anything, the lights above him lighting up his bared skin in hues of pinks and god there was something in the way he had his hair. The way he carried himself? 

And then the man shifted slightly to the music above, coming into Dele’s view and still painfully unaware of his eyes on him.

Dele’s brain was probably fucking with him, maybe the alcohol was stronger than he was used to. Maybe Eric’s hard cock pressing into him really was turning his mind to mush because the man looked far too familiar.

“What the-“ Dele said slowly, rising from his boyfriend’s lap and tuning out Eric’s questioning tone as he made his way through the seating area and down to where the man was stood in the middle of some older gentlemen in crisp suits, dancing to the music above and smirking at the desire on their faces.

Except it wasn’t just a man. It wasn’t some pretty stranger there in the background as the rest of the men in the room was.

It was Jesse Lingard.

Their eyes seemed to meet at the exact moment and they seemed to collectively let out a whoosh of breath. Jesse’s face seemed to fall as he bypassed whatever the fattest of the men had whispered to him as he weaved through the group, advancing on Dele.

Jesse’s panic settled between them and all Dele could do was blink, hands up as he visibly tried to dissect whatever fever-dream he was currently having.

Jesse Lingard? Dancing? At a Gay Bar?

“Hold on, what?” Dele exclaimed head shaking as he took in Jesse’s attire who looked like he was about to bolt at any moment. It was so far removed from the Jesse he thought he knew so well. The guy from school who was cocky and energetic, who flirted with girls like there was no tomorrow, hell who spoke openly about fucking girls? But this Jesse looked timid, all wide eyes and pouting mouth, body sculpted and oiled as he stood in red lacy underwear hands awkwardly tugging at the hem of his basque corset, giving the subtle illusion of curves, in some absurd hopes of covering himself up.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jesse said deadpan, eyes wild with confusion. Dele noted the tremor in his words, even above the pounding music around them. The lights from the main stage were casting Jesse’s fear in several different shades and Dele could do nothing but breathe out, trying to piece together what it all meant.

The men behind seemed to lose interest, instead choosing to gather around the smaller stage where the two scantily clad French men were practically dry humping.

“Adam put us on the guest list.” He watched Jesse’s eyebrows raise and the realisation hit him like a slap in the face. The jittery behaviour and Jesse’s sudden disappearance that night in the pub. Of course!

“Shit, so that’s why you were being a twat the other night! It’s cos you knew him?” Dele said, rolling his eyes and turning to Eric who had just shown up to the scene, eyes fixated on Jesse with a thoughtful non-judgemental pout. His hair was mussed, and his cheeks were flushed, and Dele imaged the pout might not just be from Jesse’s appearance as a stripper and was more about Jesse’s appearance full stop and exactly what it had interrupted. “Before you get precious Lingard, Adam didn’t know which friends of Eric’s were coming tonight. Eric’s strong point isn’t his details in conversation!” Dele added, turning back to Jesse who didn’t look like he was going to speak ever again judging by the way he was gnawing on his bottom lip, looking like he was going to spontaneously combust any moment.

“You wearin’ ladies pants, mate?” Eric asked casually, letting his eyes shift along the length of Jesse, brow pulled into a slight frown, but Jesse didn’t react, he was too busy staring at Dele like he was about to cry or punch him and run.

Most likely both.

“So, this is your job? There’s no cocktail bar is there?” Dele asked as quiet as he could in the loud room. Jesse stepped forward, pausing abruptly as though Dele would think he was disgusting or something. Dele felt his insides drop at that thought at the pure look of hurt already teasing at the edges of Jesse’s open expression. It was so awful realising that he’d been hiding something, maybe many things from the guys who were supposed to be there for him. Dele understood, the lads were great, they were amazing, but he understood the reservations of telling them something like this. Sturridge and Pogba tended not to have the most liberal views.

Dele knew all too well how that felt.

“Dell, please don’t tell anyone. I dunno how to explain all this.” Jesse’s voice was levelled, hand gesturing between them and Dele felt himself asking the question before he’d thought it through.

“Are you gay, Jess?”

The silence that filled the space around them spoke volumes. It was a connection, and suddenly Dele was right there with Jesse. Through all the doubts growing up, through wondering when he’d find girls hot. Through trying to suppress it. Through the fear of rejection and of taking the next step.

He’d been there right with him for the whole ride and hadn’t even known it.

Jesse just nodded with a sigh and a dismissive shrug and all Dele could do was reach out and wrap him in a hug, he felt his friend sigh into the relief of it before he was pulling away and murmuring about security being capable of ripping Dele’s arms off his body.

“You huggin’ up the dancers is making me look like a right mug.” Eric quipped from behind, Dele tuning him out in favour of making sure his friend wasn’t about to have a crisis. He could deal with Eric’s jealousy the way they usually did, which would wind up being something not very public and something very naked.

Fuck Dele was just about ready to cry. He was excited, excited for Jesse’s steps, proud for him because he’d been there too and remembered the liberation, the weight off his shoulders and the release of a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding for so long. “I wish I’d known, you know? This would have been a lot easier for us both”

“I would have said. I’m just, well I’m workin’ through this still like.” Jesse’s hands spoke for him and Dele nodded empathetically.

“Does anyone _else_ know?”

Else was loaded. Else had a specific person insinuated in its inflection and judging by the sadness in Jesse’s gaze as he shook his head, _else_ was another word for Rashford in his head too.

_Fuck. Oh shit, fucking bollocks. Jesus Christ._

“Shit, Marcus is here.” He said as soon as he remembered, pulling himself out of whatever moment he was having with Jesse and snapping instantly into the reality of the situation. The pair suddenly looked around them as though Marcus was about to pop out and interrupt their conversation.

Dele was actually surprised he hadn’t done just that yet.

“He’s what?” Jesse’s face drained of all colour, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling. Dele thought he’d store that reaction away for a later date. Because that look definitely made way more sense than he ever possibly gave it credit for.

“I invited him last minute cos he was bored.” Dele didn’t really understand why the look on Jesse’s face made him feel guilty, but it really did and suddenly Jesse’s hands sprang into action waving around in front of him frantically.

“Fuck, why the fuck would you do that?” His voice was a few octaves higher too.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to not invite any of my mates anywhere in case my other mate is there in lingerie?”

“That would be awkward at family parties.” Eric added, putting his empty glass to one side and seemingly necking back Dele’s now as he stood watching the exchange.

“To be honest mate, between me and Paul we’re sick of him moping around complainin’ about never seeing you, getting him out the house tends to help, you know? He doesn’t feel so alone.” Dele said with an honesty that had Jesse’s sudden panic falling into a look that was the love child of sadness and annoyance.

“Fuck this is bad, this is really fuckin’ bad.” He paced a little, scrubbing his hands over his face before turning a frantic gaze back on Dele. “You’re gonna have to leave, I’m on stage in 10 minutes.”

“You do routines? That’s so cool-“ Dele began, Jesse waving his arms around exasperatedly, silencing him immediately and dragging him back into his issue.

“Now who’s a degenerate for havin’ a stripper mate.” Eric said, smacking his lips together and placing Dele’s now empty glass beside the other.

“Babe, please. This is serious.” Dele chastised with a hand slicing the air between them, Eric rising his hands in surrender with a shrug that was more annoying than it should have been.

“I know, just enjoying my time being smug boyfriend, not a role I get to play often.”

“Look, we’ll get him out ok? I’ll think of something.” Dele’s attention was back on Jesse who let out a whoosh of breath that Dele hoped was relief.

“Thanks Dell, I owe you.”

“But Jess,” Dele began, hand reaching out to grab his arm but stopped instantly under the weight of the glower from a security guard beside the door Jesse was turning to the pass through. Either way, his friend was eyeing him, expression soft and vulnerable, eyes round and wet. “You have to tell Marcus eventually. The longer you leave it, what I’m sayin’ is it won’t get any easier to say.”

“I know. I just can’t yet.”

“All right, now go. Break a leg, or dick or whatever strippers break.” Dele said with his grin growing with at how Jesse’s response came in the form of his trademark look of _are-you-being-serious-right-now_.

“Fuck off. Like literally, leave.” Jesse said, hint of a smirk on his lips and then he was gone, leaving Dele staring after him for a moment before he briefed Eric on their sensitive operation.

It didn’t take too long to find Marcus, he was weaving his way from the bar, eyes everywhere at once and he looked more naïve and innocent in that moment than Dele ever remembered him being at school, but he was still there which meant he hadn’t freaked out enough to just jet.

That boded well for when he’d initially find out about Jesse anyway, surely?

“Cool, so we’re gonna go now!” Dele called out by way of greeting.

“Hold on fam! I’ve just finally got served! Cost me a fuckin’ bomb this!” Marcus complained, Dele shrugging as he ushered the younger man towards the exit. Marcus tutted him, swatting him away as much as he could without spilling any of his fancy lilac drink. It did look expensive as fuck for a beverage, it had a fucking flower in it for Christ sake, but Dele was hyper-aware of the main stage being empty and how at any minute music could start up again and ruin everything.

“Yeah but it’s shit here, like really awful. We should go.” He said quickly, Eric nodding along dumbly, like the big useless lump he could be in difficult situations. He looked like he was still trying to process that men could wear women’s lingerie.

“They just said there’s an act on now. Might as well stay for it, see what the fuss is about! Plus, I had to make myself scarce when I noticed you and Eric practically fuckin! Do you know how explicit you guys gotta be for me to notice you in the middle of a bunch of gay blokes with their bodies out?” Marcus snorted, swerving out of Dele’s way and stirring his drink as he went edging nearer the stage as Dele threw a panicked glance at Eric, eyes bugging out his head as his boyfriend responded to their second-long silent conversation by rolling his eyes.

They followed Marcus, Dele jumping in front of him with an overly elaborate smile. Marcus for all intents and purposes immediately looked suspicious, dark eyes flicking between Dele and Eric.

“Nah Eric is ill, yeah terrible shell-fish reaction from this new restaurant earlier.”

“Yeah I’m so ill.” Eric said deadpan, and so unconvincingly that Dele sworn to punch him in the arm when they got home.

“You’re being weird. If you wanna go home and bang, sound. But I’m gonna stay and have my extortionate drink. So, use protection, and have fun boys.”

“Marcus, seriously.” Dele rushed to say, fists in his friend’s shirt who stared at him as though he’d grown another head. “We need to go, please we gotta leave.”

Time’s up.

The lights dimmed momentarily and the men around the club began to applaud, Dele turning toward the stage, his hands still on Marcus who had frozen beside him. There stood cast in shadow on the main stage was Jesse with his back to the crowd, hands wrapped around the pole that twinkled with the spotlights that found him.

Eric rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but all Dele could do was look back to Marcus and he could tell the exact moment Jesse turned around because the music started up a familiar beat and Marcus’ drink slipped out his hand.

 


	15. Jesse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say, thank you so much for the support on this fic. It has been overwhelming and I'm endlessly grateful that you'd choose to spend your time with these characters and this story and it really does mean a lot x

 

There were few moments in his life that Jesse regretted. He tended to believe that things happened for a reason and that he couldn’t regret something he had at one point wanted.

But as he felt himself stumble as he turned on the stage, eyes staring ahead to see Marcus looking up at him from the audience with a furrowed brow and an opened mouth, well Jesse felt nothing but sobering regret.

Dele was at Marcus’ side, eyes wide and apologetic but for all Jesse could tell it was just him and Marcus in a dark room, the seats around them empty, the music overhead simply radio silence.

Marcus often had the power to make them feel like the only two people alive and for the first time in his life the world they shared felt lonely.

Jesse’s heart slowed, movements freezing all together as his tongue felt thick in his mouth and every organ inside threatened to stutter to a grinding halt. He heard a hiss of a voice saturated with a warning from backstage, it sounded like Gareth and that was enough to have him breaking from his reverie and moving along to the music. He was trying to focus on just getting through the routine and hoping his friend wouldn’t just leave whilst he was still unable to follow.

He hoped Dele would know that he’d need Marcus to stay and wouldn’t let him leave.

God, what if he were to just run out and never pick up the phone to Jesse again?

What if this was the end?

Jesse’s hands were shaking as he moved, fingers fumbling with the clasps on his basque, hips shifting as he opened the corset, revealing his body. He was wearing some of Antoine’s highlighter and it made him feel like he was glowing even brighter under the lights overhead and any other night that would be the objective, but it made him feel ridiculous as he threw a fleeting glance to Marcus trying to gauge his expression in less than a second.

Marcus just stood like some kind of omnipotent presence and all Jesse could do was dance underneath the magnifying glass in his friend’s hands, Lingard burning alive with every twist and turn. 

He dropped down to his knees, working as best as he could through the moves, crawling across the stage floor, hands running over his neck and face. His body was lithe and agile, moving to the rhythm as he approached an older white man in a suit, a stack of fifties in his fist in the best seat in the house. Jesse tried to block out the man’s leery smile and flash of money because Marcus was still watching him.

It felt like a nightmare, like Jesse’s worst case scenario playing out for him in real time, except it was reality and Jesse hated how he’d let his life fall apart so catastrophically so quickly.

This was Marcus, his best friend since year 7. _His_ Marcus. The guy who used to cover for him in Food tech if he forgot to bring his ingredients to class. The kid who would invite him round to his house for Halloween and they’d bake cookies and exchange spooky stories with Rashford’s older sisters until the two were shrieking in fear and dissolving into laughter as they shone torches in each other’s faces. The kid who became a teenager and would get served shitty cider before Jesse could, the pair laughing and joking about the world they were yet to face with the taste of cheap alcohol thick on their tongues.

The same man who held Jesse’s face that day in the pub and begged him not to be a stranger.

And here he was, stranger status in full swing. That look on Marcus was so alien, so out of place on the face of the man Jesse knew like the back of his hand.

Jesse fell back onto the haunches on his legs, thighs spread and lacy material pulling taut over his crotch. He felt the money rain over him as he pulled himself up into an elegant body roll using the pole and as he looked out he nearly faltered again at the fact that Marcus was still stood beside the collection of armchairs expression unreadable.

He hadn’t left maybe there was something in that?

Lingard continued his dance, planning out the conversation in his head, preparing himself for when Marcus would no doubt look at him in disgust, for the words that would cut deeper than any hit could, the disappointment, the fact Marcus was already looking at him like he didn’t know him.

The routine finally came to an end, Jesse landing his usual drop onto the stage floor, leg bent beneath him and back arched from the floor. He heard the applause as he routinely did, which would so often set his nerve endings on fire and make him feel alive. Except this time, it only made his stomach churn and his insides quake. He hurried off the stage, desperately gasping for air as he pushed passed the guys. Olivier calling out to him, Coutinho asking if he needed anything but all he could do was follow where his feet lead him. He passed the security guards at the staff door and looked out across the main floor, weaving through people and trying to locate Marcus.

Needing to find him.

His skin was still prickling with sweat, chest still heaving as he weaved through strangers and regulars and tip-toed over the masses trying to find that familiar face.

His whole body felt wired, like it was moving without his direction and all he could think of was Marcus. It’s like everything else around him fazed into the unimportant. He stopped being concerned about Gareth’s questioning of what had happened during his performance, he stopped caring that Dele was there and knew he was gay. All he could think of was the side of him he had shown to Marcus without his say so.

It wasn’t supposed to be a surprise. Something sprung on Marcus from left field, it was supposed to be a meticulously planned conversation. God, Jesse had thought it over in his head more times than he could count.

The pair would be sat eating lunch in some café before Marcus’ shift at work and Jesse would look across the table at him, his best friend rambling about his annoying Cousin and the sun would be shining behind him, lighting his hair in a halo. And it would feel like the the perfect way to say every secret he had, to let Marcus in _fully_. He'd tell him in a hushed voice somewhere serene, private, just them and their conversation and often in Jesse’s daydreams Marcus would reach his hand out over the table and squeeze Lingard’s fingers speaking in a soft voice, saying promises and words that set his heart glowing in his chest.

Or the pair would be lying on Jesse’s large bed, staring up at the ceiling with an empty bottle of Grey Goose between them and _Childish Gambino_ on the speakers, the pair humming and dancing along to the beat. All it would take was for Jesse to stretch his fingers out, thumb stroking across Marcus’ wrist, gathering his attention. And then he could say it, and Marcus would roll onto his side to face him, trapping him between the soft bed sheets and his warm aura.

Whatever way Jesse had thought of telling Marcus he was gay and that he was a stripper, Marcus catching him by accident didn’t even make the list of possibilities.

Jesse’s breath was getting more and more panicked as he realised that Marcus wasn’t where he was once stood, neither was Dele and Eric and the walls felt like they were closing in, his chest crushing under the pressure and he didn’t really notice his feet taking him backstage and up the rickety fire escape staircase until he pushed open the heavy fire doors and the cold air of the London night hit him like a slap in the face.

He stepped out into the alleyway, the music from the club nothing but a dull beat as distant traffic and dripping from fire escapes and industrial bins warped the quiet around.

His body moved for him, a desperation clawing at his insides and just as he was about to run back to the club and gather his things, and get _fucking dressed_ he saw a figure stood with their folded arms braced against the wall, their head buried in the crook of an elbow.

The figure familiar. 

This was Jesse's moment.

He could either retreat into the safety net South of Heaven had become for him, a place where he didn’t have to hide his sexuality but knew his identity could never be disclosed outside it's fortress-like walls. The safety giving him the freedom he craved without the crippling fear of people finding out.

The best of both worlds.

Or he could rebuild whatever was breaking between him and Marcus before it crumbled to ash in his hands and drifted into the inevitable storm that was looming on the horizon.

Fight or flight.

He sighed, swallowing down the final dregs of fear and letting himself advance on the slouched form of his best friend.

Marcus’ head snapped up then, eyes taking in Jesse, and Lingard was frozen on the spot from the tear tracks staining the face he knew so well. The want hit him harder than the initial feeling of the wind wrapping around his near-naked body had. He wanted to reach out, wipe away the ghosts of fallen tears and whisper apologies into Marcus’ ears, hands mending the ache in his friend’s heart. The ache _he_ had put there.

Marcus slapped the tears from his cheeks, sniffing and straightening his posture and just like that he was turning away, shaking his head as he went, and Jesse felt his body do that thing again, where it seemed to move without his say so, or without him really wanting it to.

“Marcus!” His shout was weaker than he expected it to be and he should have really expected his friend to ignore him as he carried on walking.

Jesse wasn’t about to see him walk away.

He _couldn’t_. This couldn't be it. This was not how the story was supposed to end.

“Marcus, mate please!” Jesse called again, grabbing hold of his friend’s arm to turn him. He didn’t know why he was surprised when Marcus span around pushing him away so violently Jesse stumbled back, brow furrowed and gaze blurring.

“So, this is how you’re earning money? Gettin’ nasty wrinkly men to throw cash at you like a slag?” Rashford spat, hands running over his hair as he paced momentarily Jesse shaking his head and attempting to reach a shaking hand out to his friend. Marcus’ breathing was ragged teeth biting at his bottom lip as he moved within the small back alley.

“It’s not like that.”

_This is my home. The people I work with feel like my family. The money is good. It feels like a normal job, I’m de-sensitized to the men I dance for now. They customers mean nothing._

But none of those thoughts transpired into words as he stood wringing his fingers in front of himself in some attempt to cover his body from the way Marcus’ eyes were running over the length of him.

“What’s it like then fam? Cos to me it looks like you’re twerkin’ for money!” He was raging, voice raised and hands gesturing back to the club doors. Anger was a look that didn’t suit Marcus. Happiness lighting up his features and crinkling his eyes under the strain of his joy, was a look for Marcus. Intrigue raising his eyebrows into his hairline as his mouth would part with excited wonder, was a look for Marcus.

But not anger, _anything_ but anger. For anger had a rather tremendous power of turning beauty into bitterness and familiarity into a stranger.

“Why you so fuckin’ bothered how I’m makin’ money? I’m well looked after here, I’m safe! I’m happy. I enjoy dancin’. Why do you care so much?” Jesse snapped, advancing on Marcus who took a step back, keeping space between them that felt alien to Jesse, unreasonable and yet justified because it _was_ his fault. He had put the space between them ever since he realised he was in love with his best friend.

It hadn’t been something that had built up, the realisation had hit him all at once like a strike of lightening on a clear day.

_“I swear-down this test is gonna be so hard. I’m gonna fail!” Jesse complained throwing his school bag into the corner of his room and toeing off his shoes as Marcus followed him over the threshold. The taller boy chuckled as he shut the door behind him, Megan Fox poster curling at the corner from the coat hook on Jesse’s door._

_Lingard threw himself dramatically on his single bed, frustrated at life. For one, it was totally unfair that his sister got the bigger room just because she was a girl? What did that even mean? So, Jesse was resigned to staying in his shitty box room forever? Total bullshit. And to top it all off, Mr Dunne set a random mock SATS exam and Jesse was convinced it was because his dickhead Geography teacher had in fact made a pact with the devil and the universe solely for the collective mission to piss off Jesse Lingard._

_“You’re not gonna fail, you twat! I don’t think you’ve ever failed anything in your life!” Marcus said, with an annoyingly knowing expression on his face as he placed his bag down beside Jesse’s, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking back to his friend who was staring helplessly at the ceiling, fingers toying with his school tie._

_“I just worry, you know? Failing worries me.”_

_“I know. It’s cos we’re bare young got nothing else to worry about ennit.” The pair chuckled, settling as best as they could side by side and Jesse realised he didn’t mind the fact that they were shoulder to thigh pressed together. He was pretty sure if he was lying like this with Luke Shaw he’d smack the geezer upside his head, before shoving him hard onto the floor._

_But that was it, Marcus was different._

_“We gotta worry about prom dates soon buddy!” Marcus ribbed him, elbowing him in the side and causing Jesse to curl up, slightly as he cackled. “I’ll probably just end up taking Jenna.” His friend said, settling back down and Jesse nodded staring at a damp stain on the ceiling as he pouted in thought._

_“She’s fit to be fair.” She was all right, he supposed. There was nothing particularly spectacular about her but all the lads in their year thought she had tits made of gold or something. Jesse couldn’t put his finger on it, she just_ wasn’t _hot. But he said she was because disagreeing seemed weird somehow._

_“I suppose.” He felt his friend shrug and a part of him wondered why Marcus wasn’t gassing her up, like Raz and Luke would be. “Who you gonna take?” Marcus asked, titling his head towards Jesse who looked back at his friend. He hadn’t’ noticed that Marcus’ eyes were several different shades of dark before and he hadn’t noticed the little scar he had just below his right eye, or the way his nose crinkled whilst he waited for someone to answer a question he’d asked, as he dwelt in anticipation._

_I_ _t was weird, they’d been pretty much inseparable for three years, Jesse desperately seeking Marcus’ approval at every opportunity and yet he’d never noticed the little things that kind of had him stunned into silence for a few moments. Marcus was looking back at him, content to let the silence stretch on and Jesse felt his throat drying at the way awkwardness didn’t quite settle in like it was supposed to. It still didn't seem to settle in even as his tongue got heavy when he started thinking about how all he had to do was stretch his fingers out and he’d be able to touch Rashy’s hand._

_“Probably your mom, she is well up for it!” He said eventually, voice too weak to be a joke but Marcus’ eyes still rolled, and his mouth still broke out into a smile as he hit playfully at Jesse’s elbow who felt like the hand that slid down his forearm burnt him._

_“Remind me why I haven’t killed you yet, Lingard.” Marcus said, and something about the softness of his voice caused Jesse’s  breath to catch in his throat. Suddenly the room was too small, Marcus’ smile was too affectionate, and his voice was too quiet and there was a horrific thundering inside Jesse’s chest that felt like a combination of a ticking bomb nestled in the depths of his heart and a hoard of butterflies bashing against his rib-cage._

_“Cos then who would you annoy daily.” Jesse managed to reply and instead of words Marcus just bowed his head, cheek pressing against Jesse’s shoulder as he laughed, and Jesse was staring at the ceiling again, body tingling in every place him and Marcus were touching and so suddenly he pin-pointed the feeling curling deep in his gut as undeniable want._

Perhaps that’s where the distance had first begun, Jesse painfully aware with every touch and every look that his feelings could quiet easily be displayed all over his face and give away the entire friendship as some kind of hoax. An elaborate lie built on the foundations of Jesse being secretly in love for over 4 years. So, he chose to look away more, he chose to talk about girls instead of choking on words that could ruin everything. He chose to hide and soon enough the whole situation became as fragile as a house of cards, just awaiting for its inevitable collapse.

“You’ve been lyin’ to me for months, lyin’ to ya boy’s face for fuckin’ months!” Marcus’ voice was loud in the quiet seclusion that trapped them between two buildings, face screwed up as he paced around with fists pressed into his eyes in a move reminiscent to Marcus fighting off tears.

 _More tears_.

Jesse’s heart stuttered at that, whenever Marcus was sad he felt personally responsible to change it, but he rarely felt part of the cause.

He rarely was.

Not like this.

“How could I tell you? Look at you! Look what you’re doing!” Jesse said helplessly, gesturing to his friend who was cackling before he could even finish his sentence.

“Tell me how the fuck you expect me to react, Jess?”

“Not like this. Please.” Jesse’s voice was choked. The desperation felt like a second entity to him, working entirely on its own and not caring much for how weak it was making Jesse look in the process.

“Don’t fuckin’ turn this around and play the victim! You’ve been lyin’ to me for fucks sake, going around and actin’ like a cheap slag behind my back!” Marcus’ voice reached an angered volume that felt so far removed from what Jesse was used to that it didn’t seem like he was talking to his best friend at all. Which is probably why Jesse justified letting his rage rush through his body as he grabbed at Marcus, slamming him against the club wall with a colliding thud.

Weirdly Marcus didn’t fight back, he just stood there pinned under the weight of Jesse, nostrils flaring, and brow furrowed.

Jesse was hyper-aware of all the ways their bodies were joined, from chest to thigh and so different from those days they’d lie side by side in his room, where they’d be laughing and conspiring and the thought of a confrontation between them seemed like some kind of sick joke. All of the memories, the shame, the need to explain, the anger at Marcus' reaction seemed to pool inside him as a twisted cacophony of noise and Jesse couldn't think straight through all the thoughts.

“You’re dancin’ for _boys_ , Jess.” Marcus said helplessly and so quietly that Jesse nearly missed it above the pounding bass that was vibrating the wall they were pressed against, and the sickeningly quick pace of his heart beat. Jesse felt his body freeze, his arm across his best friend’s chest slackening and he stumbled back from him, weakened.

As though he’d been physically hit.

He may as well have; those words were enough to have him gasping for air. He knew this is what it would come down to, but even hindsight was not enough to stop the blood inside him boiling and the resentment rushing in like waves through the crack of a dam. Fuck Marcus, fuck him for not noticing Jesse’s sexuality. Fuck him for not paying attention to any of the looks, fuck him for not distancing himself first if he’d ever sensed them. Fuck him for making it all unbearably and catastrophically worse!

“Yeah I am.” Jesse said fiercely. “Yeah, I fuckin’ _am_  dancin' for boys Rashy, cos I like boys mate!” He held his arms in the air, ignoring the tears that tracked his cheeks as the anger couldn’t be contained any longer. It didn’t feel like a weight off his shoulders as he’d read about in LGBT forums, it hadn’t felt like everything was sliding into place around him as he declared his sexuality. It felt very much the opposite and all he could do was track the changes in Marcus’ expression.

His eyes widened a little, mouth falling open and chest rising as he released a whoosh of air like he’d been burned.

“Dele ain’t the only gay bloke out of our mates, you know!” Marcus just stood there, staring at him like he didn’t know him at all, like he was speaking a language that he couldn’t decipher. Marcus looking at him like he didn’t _want_ to know him, didn’t want to understand him.

Like he couldn’t understand him ever again.

“I like _you_.” Jesse ended with a laugh, thumb swiping at his bottom lip, staring at the expression that slipped onto his friend’s face at that confession. He didn’t want to consider how unreadable it was. Suddenly there wasn’t any evident change, just a strange blankness that felt too broke for him to possibly fix.

Like the damage had already been done.

“I’ve fancied ya for _ages_.”

“Don’t say that.” Marcus said, shaking his head and staring just passed Jesse, eyes focused on the building behind him as tears brimmed his dark eyes.

“You think I’ve wanted to? You think I’ve wanted to fancy my best mate and know nothing is _ever_ gonna happen?” Jesse was crying, ugly crying that he hated himself for because he never let himself reach that level, always wanted to remain in control of himself and his emotions. He hadn’t realised his hands had slipped down to fist into Marcus’ shirt, clawing at him in desperation because Marcus wasn't fighting back. Marcus was deathly still. Hauntingly demure.

“Stop.”

“Why is it all right when it’s Dele who’s gay but not when it’s me? Or is it only ok for Dele because he doesn’t want to shag ya?” He couldn’t stop, the anger and self-resentment was rushing out his mouth in the form of words that he meant too much, words that he shouldn’t have said out loud.

“I’m leavin’” Marcus pushed him away, Jesse stumbling back and watching the back of his best friend through blurry eyes.

“You’re leavin’ yeah? So that’s it? It's done.”

“Yeah that’s it. I’m not havin’ this.” Rashford called out, hand slicing through the air as he carried on walking away, Jesse shaking his head as the voice in the back of his mind told him to keep going. To not let this slip through his fingers.He could feel Marcus going though, like the fog Jesse was trying to grasp with his bare hands as though his life depended on it.

“Wait Marcus please, don’t go we need to talk about this!” He followed and was immediately stopped in his tracks as Marcus turned back around.

“There’s nothing to say Jess, you lied to me. For months and now you turn around and say you fancy me?” Marcus shouted, hand swiping beneath his eyes again as he shook his head vehemently. “How does that work, Jess? How can you have the nerve to say you fancy someone that you don’t even respect enough to tell them you’re gay! We tell each other _everything_. Everything! We always have! Jobs, crushes. Everything! That includes this! It _should have_ included this!”

Each word felt like a punch to the gut and Jesse was so close to throwing in the towel, because the hits kept coming and he was battered and bruised but he kept pulling himself back into the fight with a helpless head shake and a plea in his gaze.

“You have to understand why I couldn’t just come out and say it?”

“Dele, yeah cos we weren’t that close. But me and you? We’ve always been different. I’ve been there day in and day out since you were 11. You not telling me you were a stripper, or gay or fancied me, that turned into a conscious decision a long time ago!” Marcus wasn’t shouting anymore, and it was somehow more jarring, it stood out in the quiet of the evening, the sounds around them heightening as they just stared at one another for a few moments.

“How could I tell my best mate that I like him, Marcus?”

“You could have told me. You _should_ have.” And then he was turning away again, and Jesse was following.

“You think I haven’t wanted to? Fuck, Marcus. Whenever I look at you...” Marcus stopped again, Jesse halting too like he was too scared to cross the invisible line of space between them. “I wish so badly.” It was a hushed plea, a plea that wasn’t a stranger to him anymore because begging seemed to be a running theme for Jesse Lingard as he stood, body shivering and mind working overtime.

“I’m not having this conversation here. Not here, and not right now.” Marcus was done, his words seemed finite and his sigh seemed sad.

“Marcus please!” He couldn’t walk anymore, his legs trembling as he watched his friend walk away. He didn’t turn back as Jesse hoped he would, he just kept going until he was out of sight and Jesse was left alone in the middle of an alleyway looking like the whore Marcus took him for and feeling cheaper than he ever had done in his life.

The house of cards collapsed.

Jesse felt himself fall before he really noticed, his fist slamming against the ground as he tried to steady the anger that rushed to the surface in the form of tears. He’d never heard of a spider tangling themselves up in their own web and choking out, and yet here he was gasping for air beneath his own lies. He had no one else to blame, he’d felt himself cringe whenever he’d lied about the girls he wasn’t dating, or the bar he wasn’t working at and he realised that Marcus had an entirely different picture painted of Jesse than what reality offered and that was _his_ fault.

It all amounted to him not being as brave and strong as he hoped he’d grow up to be.

It all amounted to him not being the man Marcus thought he was.

He was too exhausted to react when he felt someone kneel beside him. All he knew was that it was Eric’s coat he felt around his shoulders, the blonde lifting him from his knees and bringing him under his arm. Jesse collapsed into him breathing in his scent that was so reminiscent of Dele and yet so different.

“Has Dell gone after Marcus?” He asked in broken words that Eric seemed to hear as the doctor nodded, hand rubbing up Jesse’s shoulder in an attempt to warm him up.

“Yeah, but it’s ok. I got you.”

“Oh great, stranger danger ennit?” Jesse huffed out a laugh, as he was guided back towards the fire doors he had left from, where a panicked looking Antoine and a worried looking Allision had appeared at the threshold and if Jesse had an ounce of pride left he’d worry about how much they had seen, how much Eric and Dele had seen.

“Me? Stranger danger? If one of the bouncers here sees us, they’re gonna think I’m bundling you up to throw you in the back of my car! You’re more dangerous I reckon, I’ll wind up gettin’ my head kicked in for the likes of you!”

“You’re all right you know, for a stuck-up Doctor.” Jesse said through sniffles. He felt Eric’s laugh before he heard it, rumbling in his chest and the blonde just pulled him closer into him, Jesse too exhausted to put up a fight.

“And you’re all right, for a bloke in a thong.” Eric said as they approached the fire-doors, Griezmann offering them both a sad smile. “I’ve text Adam, he told me and Dele to take you to his, is that all right? So just go back in with your naked little mates, and gather your stuff together. Me and Dele will be out here waiting.” Eric stepped back as Jesse accepted Allison’s arm that wrapped him into a tight hug. He supposed it was nice to have some support, because he’d never felt so helpless alone before. “On second thoughts, this mate isn’t that little. You alright?” Eric directed towards Allision who nodded down at him with a smirk before his eyes were drifting back to Jesse. 

“Thanks Eric.” And he meant it. Eric had known him for five minutes and was already witnessing him at a low point but he was still supportive. Still smiling. Dele really had done well.

“He’ll be ok, you do know that don’t you?” Eric said after a few moments, hands pushed into his pockets and Jesse swallowed thickly, insides churning at the thought of Marcus and the scenario that was replaying in his head like some twisted news reel.

“I hope so.”

“It’s painfully obvious to me you know.” Eric was saying as Jesse turned to make his way inside. He frowned looking over his shoulder at the doctor whose expression was unreadable.

“What is?”

“Don't matter. Dele told me to not open my 'stupid mouth' and I know better than to piss off my boyfriend who has already given me blue balls tonight.” And Jesse didn’t really have the energy to tug on that thread of inquiry, he was only now just realising just how cold he was, and pretty soon Allison and Antoine were guiding him towards the changing room.

Neither of them spoke which Jesse was thankful for.

Perhaps he’d said more in one night than he’d ever intended to say in a lifetime and could really benefit from a bout of silence, even if his thoughts of Marcus looked unlikely to slow enough to let him enjoy it anyway.

 


	16. Adam

 

As soon as the bell buzzed Adam was advancing on the front door and yanking it open. He was greeted with Eric’s saddened expression and the man stood beside him. Adam didn’t wait for any further explanation to exceed the information that Eric had texted, he just lunged forwards and gathered Jesse up in a hug.

To say he’d been on edge ever since he’d first got a call from Eric would have been an understatement. It wasn’t a secret that Adam tended to favour Jesse over those they worked with, with some sort of elder brother type protectiveness that surpassed their work life and bled into their realities. They were an unlikely friendship but a friendship all the same.

Thankfully the smaller man didn’t push him away or tell him to stop being soppy, he just clung on breathing in his friend with a shaking sigh.

Adam looked at Eric over his friend’s shoulder, the blonde smiling at him sadly.

“Thank you.” Adam mouthed with a wink. Eric shrugged, as though it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Of course, it was. Eric barely knew the guy for a start and here he was, walking him to Adam’s very door. Compassion was Eric’s forte, even if he tried his hardest to hide that fact.

“I’ve gotta go pick up Dele. He’s back at Marcus’.” Eric’s final word was tentative, enough so that Jesse pulled away from Adam, looking at the floor and composing himself to throw a forced smile up at the doctor.

“Yeah you go man, I’ll be fine from here. Thanks for not thinkin’ I’m a total wet-wipe by the way.”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong I think you’re a wet-wipe. But I’m glad you’re ok.” Eric said, hand on Jesse’s shoulder who rolled his eyes nodding his thanks before disappearing through to Adam’s apartment.

Adam watched him go, watched how Jesse made himself at home. Depositing his bag, toeing off his sliders, crawling into his favoured arm chair like a cat and flicking through his phone with hunched shoulders. It was so far removed from the Jesse he was used to, who would waltz into the place. His fingers wherever they could be, in the fridge, on the remote, rummaging through Adam’s wardrobe to give him a lesson on whatever it was he was calling ‘style’ that week. But never like this, never so.

 _Un-Jesse_ like.

“Cheers again. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll plan the escape room thing.” Adam said throwing a flippant hand around as he looked back to his friend. The pair had made loose plans a few days previously when the blonde had called him, excited over some adventure day out advert he saw online. “Bye bye Dier.”

“Bye bye Llama.” Eric winked then, slapping his friend on the arm before disappearing down the hallway, leaving Adam to close his door.

Jesse’s eyes were already on him.

“No conversation before tea. Grandma Lallana said anything could be fixed with a cup of tea. And I have yet to doubt her wisdom!” Adam said holding up his hand as his friend let out a sad laugh, looking down at his hands and nodding, whilst Lallana busied himself with making a pot.

The atmosphere was tense for lack of a better word and Adam was unsure of how to approach the situation. He had never really been the friend someone would go to when they were sad, not _really_ sad. Not _heartbreak_ sad. Maybe that said more about Adam than he wanted to admit. Maybe people didn’t think he was deep enough of a person to truly understand. But Jesse was counting on him, and he felt like Atlas straining under the weight of the world as he brought into the living room, two steaming mugs, handing one to his friend.

Jesse accepted the warm tea, hands wrapping around the cup as he settled further into the seat. He looked ten years younger and Adam sat tentatively opposite him, taking in the saddened expression and the sorrowful eyes and pin-pointing the emotion toying with Jesse’s features as unadulterated heart break.

“Eric filled me in on what happened.” His words broke the silence in the room and it must have felt like a burst balloon if the look on Jesse’s face was anything to go by before he nodded again.

“Marcus is right, I should have told him.”

“And you were going to, when you were ready. I’m sorry the moment was taken from you, I know how hard it is coming out to people. Especially those who you like.” Adam said, Jesse shaking his head and following his finger as it edged around the rim of his mug.

A forceful distraction to the war waging in his head.

“What am I supposed to do now Adam? I feel like it’s all gone to utter shit.” The glossy gaze that met Adam’s had his own heart swooping low, so out of place on a face like Jesse’s and Adam had to break the look first, taking a sip from too-hot tea.

“Give him a few days. He has to adjust to this, think about it. His best friend has just unloaded a bombshell onto him that he doesn’t know _how_ to act. But he’s a decent person from what I hear, he will come around.”

“Can’t I just bury my head in the sand and pretend this mess didn’t happen?” Jesse said with a sad huff.

“No, you can’t. You have to face up to this because it won’t go away.” Adam bit his lips, ignoring the mocking voice in his head that called him an arsehole, and gave him the full pot-kettle-black spiel. He was much too aware of the unopened messages from Jordan burning a hole in his inbox as he shied away from whatever it was that was growing between them.

It had never meant to manifest the way it did. But Adam’s feelings for Jordan were rather like ivy. Beautiful and enchanting at first, but he seemed to blink and then the next minute they were winding up the very walls of his being and smothering every part of his life that shouldn’t concern the man he barely knew.

Jordan was a constant in his mind. When he was shopping, he’d find himself falling into a daze behind his trolley and once even ended up accidently clattering into a most _unamused_ mother of 3 who fixated him with the deadliest of all glares because he had been staring down at the selfie Jordan had sent him that morning. Or perhaps at his lowest moments, where he’d be with a nameless client, some older man kissing down his neck with a hand wrapped around his cock. Adam found himself closing his eyes and thinking of blonde hair and crystal eyes, biting his lip and shifting against the person in a way that screamed discomfort when it once was just him making a living.

If Adam was completely honest with himself, he was terrified of what Jordan’s thoughts meant. Because Adam Lallana didn’t do crushes, and by the time he was sat in Gareth’s office with another lecture being hurled his way he realised not only was it a crush, but it was a _dangerous_ one and seemed completely out of his control.

The most infuriating thing was, his crush on Jordan didn’t make any sense. Upon meeting him, sure he considered that he was ridiculously fit but that’s because Adam had eyes and was _gay_. But there was something more about Jordan, some deep setting intrigue that sparked a small flame within Adam whenever the blonde was near, and before he really knew what the fuck was happening the small flickering flame had grown into a wild fire. And well, Adam was just one man and one man against a burning forest wasn’t much of a fair chance for survival.

“I told him I fancied him, Ads. I said those words after so long of imagining a perfect way of saying them. But no, I just fucking said it like the dumb twat I am.” Jesse deposited his tea on the table, leaning forwards to hang his head, breaths steady like he was repressing an onslaught of tears.

It was obvious that he’d been crying, and not just from the panicked texts from Eric but because his face was blotchy and his eyes bloodshot.

“Listen, sometimes life doesn’t let us do things the way we want to. But the good news is, it’s out there now. You don’t have to have anxiety about it anymore because it’s done.”

“The way he looked at me… it was like I was a stranger.” He looked to Adam and the older man instantly leaned forwards.

“He’s just in shock. He’ll come around.” Adam said, hand on his friend’s knee.

The look on Jesse’s face was one Adam had been accustomed to over the years. It was aching, pining, upset all rolled into one and Adam feared that it may be Jesse’s first trip into the territory that seemed so deep rooted in familiarity to Adam.

He wondered if now would be a good time to divulge those stories of his to Jesse now, but before he could muster the courage Jesse was wiping his nose against the back of his hand and straightening up.

“Anyway, do I even wanna know why you weren’t in work today? Everyone was asking about you, but Gareth wasn’t saying anything.” His tea was back in his hands and Adam knew he was deflecting from the real issue at hand and it was totally unfair to have the spotlight turned to him. But Jesse had bore enough of his soul tonight, so maybe it was Adam’s turn.

He got up and headed to the kitchen all the same.

Like the big brave boy that he was.

“I’m suspended.” He said it like an off-handed remark, picking up a dishcloth and wiping down some cutlery that was already dry.

“What did you do?” Jesse’s tone suddenly got serious and Adam frowned petulantly at the forks in his grasp like the five-year-old he felt like he was. When the conversation had turned on him exactly, he had no idea. He just knew that he didn’t like it one bit.

“Me and a customer got a little carried away.” Clink. Clink. Clink, separating the cutlery into the draw didn’t take up enough time because Jesse was letting the silence pierce the room.

“That doesn’t sound like a very _Adam Lallana_ thing to do.” Jesse said suspicion complete with a narrowed gaze, twisting him in his chair. He had his knowing eyes following Adam wherever he went the older man slamming the fridge door shut after a brief rummage until turning on his friend with a sigh, unsurprised to see Jesse still staring.

“Yeah, well-“ Adam stumbled over words, hands thrown in the air as he tried to push through every word that had him connected to the blonde with the fucking bluest eyes he’d ever fucking-

“Jordan.”

“Yeah.” There was no point in denying it, though he wished he did as Jesse tutted loudly.

“Adam, you can’t keep falling all over this guy! It makes other customers think they can pull the same shit!” His voice seemed more animated at least, and 10 minutes ago Adam would have prayed for that, but now he wanted nothing more than to have them trapped in silence.

“I know that! I know, but you don’t get it. This guy looks like a fucking Greek God and he’s looking at me like-“ He stopped himself, pressing his lips together and just breathing. Waiting for his head to come back to him because he was pretty much fucking sick of it running riot lately.

“Like-“

“Like, I’m not just a decoration.” It was quiet and he felt like he’d just had his diary keyed open by an annoying older sibling, blood rushing to his cheeks because perhaps that was a bit too honest.

“That’s gay.” Jesse joked, the pair sharing a huff of laughter before the silence caught up with them and Jesse was sighing again. “But I get the appeal. Just stop going full fuckin’ Rom Com at work, it makes it unsafe for the rest of us.” Jesse was rising to his feet, taking another brief swig of his tea and making towards where he’d dropped his bag off. Adam didn’t know if it was because he wanted to be alone or if he thought Adam had bigger problems. Before he could say anything Jesse was looking at him again. “Just wondering, does Jordan know you’re an escort?”

“Yeah he does.” He said smacking his lips together with a deliberately loud sound, perhaps as a distraction to the impulse to divulge his fear of Jordan’s thoughts of that to Jesse, because that really would be too honest. “Speaking of which, are you going to join the dark-side any time soon?”

His turn to switch the conversation up.

“Honestly, I’ve given it no thought since Southgate gave me the leaflets.” Jesse shrugged and slipped into his shoes.

“You any closer to deciding?”

“I don’t know man, maybe? The money is good, like. And now Marcus is out the picture I have more reason to consider it.”

Adam didn’t want to stand there and explain all the different ways as to how Marcus wasn’t out of the picture just yet but instead he just approached his friend, surveying him thoughtfully.

“One step at a time aye. Figure out the Marcus thing and everything else will fall into place around it.” He lifted his hand out, watching as Jesse eyed it for a few moments before tentatively taking hold of it, letting it hang between them.

Adam couldn’t suppress his smirk, Jesse was always so reluctant to be a-touchy-feely friend, but he seemed to be getting more used to it, the more he hung around with Adam.

“Look, I’m gonna go. Just wanna shower and sleep.”

“You can stay here if you want to.” Adam asked, but Jesse was throwing his bag on his shoulder and heading to the door, sheepishly. Like he felt bad for leaving, at least he seemed less in his head than he had been. Maybe their conversation, however fleeting was enough.

“Look I’ll be fine just promise me something.” Jesse asked opening the door and looking back at Adam who nodded without another thought. “Call Jordan, doesn’t seem right for both of us to lose our chances at love or whatever.”

“You haven’t lost your chance, mate.” Adam chose to say and judging by Jesse’s smirk he knew he’d purposefully dissected the conversation.

“Just promise me you won’t let yours pass you by.”  There was a finality to Jesse’s voice, like he was resigned to his and Marcus’ friendship being over and for all Adam knew, it was. He didn’t know if Marcus was a bigot, an arsehole, a homophobe. All he knew of the boy was what Jesse had told him over the months, and it’s fair to say that Jesse’s opinion could be very biased indeed.

Adam held out silent hope that it wasn’t bias.

“I promise.” And he did, because Jesse’s smile was soft and sincere. “If all else fails, I’ll be your boyfriend.” Adam added with an eyebrow raise that had them both laughing in the threshold.

“And then who will that blonde bloke salivate over?” Jesse winked then before saluting and leaving down the hallway. Adam waited a few moments, listening to the footsteps get quieter and the familiar sound of an elevator door opening before he sighed to himself.

Adam shut the door, pressing his forehead against it, his heart full and the phone in his pocket practically glowing with the potential to finish whatever it was exactly that he’d started with Jordan.

Jesse had a point after all, and the ivy kept growing no matter how hard Adam tried to stop it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter today, but thursday I am going to be uploading a 6,000 word chapter!  
> Again thank you for reading and thank you for the wonderful comments and messages.
> 
> Come see me at doncasterlyrock.tumblr.com for any questions or suggestions! Much love always, and hope you enjoyed this update!


	17. Jordan

 

“I was beginning to think you’d gone on a Social Media strike.” Jordan said, perhaps slightly more panicked than he first intended. Truth was he hadn’t spoken to Adam in a few days and had found himself continuously checking to see when or if he was online. Jordan had been at a point where he was genuinely beginning to think he’d never speak to the man again.

Getting banned from a strip club wasn’t Jordan’s finest achievement but at least he wasn’t behind bars for sexual assault so that was always a plus he supposed.

Adam’s little chuckle on the other end of the phone was enough to have him sighing out in relief.

_No apparent love lost then._

Jordan stepped away from the doors of the leisure centre, listening to the man’s soft breathing down the line.

“At least Milner didn’t give me a fake number, that would have been embarrassing.” Jordan hated how his smile took over his face whenever Adam was concerned, he hated the way he made him feel. Like a fucking school boy desperate to be at the cool kids table, or a love-sick student pining for the unobtainable teacher. It was sickening really, and all Jordan could do was pace outside his work place, craving a cigarette.

“Fuck sake would have been typical of him though.” He said, scuffing the front of his trainer against the crumbling wall beside the fence. “What’s up? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah I heard you were ejected from South of Heaven. It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Yeah looks like I have to get my kicks from another seedy club.”

“Less of the seedy! It’s my livelihood you know!”

“So, you didn’t lose your job then?” Jordan asked, stomach knotted through anticipation. Because if Adam lost his job then there would always be a bitter resentment underlying whatever they had between them.

“Final warning.” The tension out of Jordan’s stomach eased exponentially. “Written down and everything, Gareth was beyond furious and made me take a few days off.”

“What made him not want to sack you off entirely?”

“I earn him money, and plenty of it. Plus, recruitment is well long, it’s in his best interest to keep me around I reckon.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” And he was, because Adam didn’t deserve to lose his job, he was good at his job and he definitely didn’t deserve to lose it over some bloke with a crush so big he was willing to break all laws of logic to see it through. “What you doing now then?”

“I’m just in bed actually.” The thought went straight to Jordan’s cock. He imagined how Adam’s new hair would look mussed with sleep, smile lazy and cock tenting the satin bed sheet draped over him from a night of thinking about that dance in the blue room.

“Well if you’re phoning me with your hand down your boxers? I’ll let you know now, I’m officially skint and it’s entirely your fault, remember.”

“Fuck off!” Adam cackled, Jordan feeling warmth ripple through him at the sound of that laughter. “I called to fulfill a promise actually?”

“Oh, is that it?” His voice was too soft, perhaps gave too much away but regardless he waited with baited breath.

“Yeah after a particularly sexually charged performance I made a promise. By the way, utterly brilliant Lap-dance on my part I must say.”

“Oh, modest as well as a gifted dancer.” Jordan kicked at the wall again, watching some brick crumble onto his shoe.

“Well I don’t want to think that’s the last installment of ‘ _The Jordan and Adam’s twisted friendship’_ saga.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had!” Jordan said, biting his lip to stop the smile that was honestly hurting his fucking cheeks.

_Jesus Jordan, grow up!_

“Exactly, so to keep up with best friend tradition,” He began once again, letting a beat of silence wash over them before continuing. “I thought maybe we could, you know.” He swallowed thickly, and Jordan’s heart slowed down to near enough flat-lining. “Arrange a time to pick up where we left off, maybe?”

“Ah, that’s a shame that, but like I said. I’m skint.” Jordan teased, pressing his lips together to try and repress the butterflies that were threatening to spew out of his mouth. He didn’t want to rush into insinuations of what Adam meant exactly, but he so suddenly and so badly realised in that moment just how much he wanted all of Adam.

How _soon_ he wanted all of him.

“I was thinking something that mates do, you know, now that you’re my best friend and all.”

“Are you askin’ me out on a date, Ads?” He teased, smiling wider at the groan of embarrassment from the man down the end of the line.

“No need to be so gay about it. But yeah, I am as it stands. I am.”

He was. He was asking Jordan Henderson out on a date. Some fit, dancer who could have anyone he wanted, was asking Hendo out on a date. Jordan suddenly wanted the entirety of his secondary school’s football team to walk passed just so he could slam it in their faces after all the time’s they’d said he’d never get laid.

Adam wouldn’t be his first, but he sure as fuck felt like it with how his heart was beating out a symphony in his chest.

“What makes you think I ain’t sick of you yet? Beginning to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Lallana.”

Adam’s chuckle was sinful.

“Meet me tomorrow, if you’re free. It’s my last day off before I’m welcomed back to work, like a reprobate. We could give this whole date thing a trial run. If it falls through, we can just sack it off and I can go back to suckin’ off men who actually _enjoy_ my company.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, got absolutely loads of strippers asking me out ya see.” Their back and forth was a normal as ever and Jordan wondered if they actually had just had several days of radio silence because it didn’t seem like it.

“Well if it’s too much trouble-“

“Why don’t we meet at the pub by mine, about 8ish? I’ll send you the address.”

“Sounds good. You know, that sounds all right.”

_Didn’t it just?_

*

It was cliché to the highest degree for Jordan to find Adam in the throng of people in the street and feel the air leave his lungs at the sight of him, but there he was.

Adam was wearing a smart tan jacket, a crisp black button up shirt and some light blue jeans that were clinging to his muscles and Jordan wondered instantly if he looked good enough himself or not. But Adam had spotted him too and he was beaming and casting a glance over him with a look of appreciation as he got closer.

“You’re lookin’ a bit of all right! Beginning to wonder if _I’m_ payin’ for this pleasure tonight.” Adam said by way of greeting, Jordan welcoming him in for a hug just to hide his smile. And if he buried his face in the man’s neck, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne and enjoying the press of skin on skin, well then that was just a bonus.

They hadn’t been in this position before and Jordan was mapping out all their differences, height, scent, feel.

“Barely recognized you fully clothed.” Jordan replied as they pulled apart both turning towards the pub, Adam’s laughter carrying Henderson there as the smaller man held open the door for them. They made their way to the bar, ordering drinks before taking a seat in the well-lit pub.

Hendo opted for his usual pint because it was a Wetherspoon’s pub and he wasn’t prepared to stand and order a pink gin and lemonade like Adam did.

It wasn’t particularly busy, several people sat around having both drinks and meals and Jordan was glad when they sat in a booth beside the large windows, London passing by beside them.

“Tell you what, you look well different in a brightly lit area.” Jordan said, pint glass against his lips as Adam rolled his eyes.

“Now you can see all my flaws.”

“I’ll let you know if I find one.” Jordan said, picking up the menu and giving it a scan like he was interested in anything other than the man opposite him. Adam looked down at his own, biting his lips but the smile was still teasing the edges of his mouth and it kind of made Jordan want to kiss him again.

The silence that passed over them wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t loaded with unfamiliarity as most first dates did. Instead it was almost serene, even with the fruit machine’s blaring up a storm behind them and the loud banter of the other patron’s drowning out whatever Sky Sports was saying on the TV above them.

“I think my menu has actual mayonnaise on it.” Adam laughed, pointing to a suspect stain in the 2 meals for a fiver section.

Classy Jordan strikes again!

“Don’t give me that, don’t act like you’re too high and mighty for a fuckin’ spoons meal.” He shook his head as Adam cackled, hand resting on the table between them. Jordan let his eyes flick down to it, part of him expecting Adam to be less blatant in his flirting. But he supposed he’d already has his tongue down his throat so why bother playing coy at all?

“Listen, the dates I usually go on take me to some joints in Mayfair, with leather bound menus. I actually think someone used this as a plate.” Adam laughed, showing Jordan the stains over the writing that set the younger man off in hysterics.

“Oh, that’s not mayo, I got over excited before you got here.” He waggled his eyebrows, setting his hand next to Adam’s who smirked at their fingers side-by-side.

“Now I have no choice but to request a look at the CCTV footage of that.” He let his gaze fix on Jordan as he took a sip from his pretty pink drink. His littlest finger stroking down the side of Jordan’s index.

It was mortifying how that alone was enough to have him twitching in his fucking jeans.

 “So, tell me about yourself, where do you work?” He said, taking a gulp from his pint.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked actually, I’m a school teacher.” Adam said so sincerely that Jordan couldn’t repress the bark of laughter that rose up in his chest. Adam was smiling, sipping at his drink and Jordan couldn’t quite believe how relaxing it was to be around him, when Jordan spent the majority of his day to day life, wired and tense because of his thoughts of Lallana.

“Oh really, do you like it?” Their fingers had hooked together at some point.

“Yeah, I do. I like putting boys in their place.” Adam said, looking across at him through his lashes and Jordan bit his lip at the flirty eyebrow raise from the older man. God, he loved and hated in equal measure the fact he was sporting a semi-erect cock in a Wetherspoons pub on a casual mid-week evening. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lifeguard at the local leisure centre.”

“Now this did intrigue me on my very few and far between glances at your profile.” Adam said, scratching at his face mockingly as Jordan felt another flare in his stomach at the thought that Adam may have been as interested as he was.

May _be_ as interested as him.

“Nah it’s mostly boring, just have to sit around lookin’ pretty all day in my little red trunks.”

“This Mr Henderson, is what I call being a fucking tease.” Adam turned Jordan’s hand over, so it was palm side up, and began with the most distractedly delicate touches across the sensitive skin. Jordan swallowed and let himself lean forwards.

Adam copied almost instantly, so their little world they had made got a little smaller.

“I’m sure I could give you a demonstration one day. Perhaps a few selfies sent your way, if you play your cards right.”

“Quick, change the subject before this date deteriorates faster than any date ever has!”

“That is tempting. But I’ll behave because I’ve spent a lot of money trying to woo you and I don’t intend to do it wrong.” He laughed, taking another long gulp of his pint and preening under the way Adam’s eyes flicked down to his throat.

“Are you wooing me Mr Henderson?” There it was again, _Mr Henderson_ , complete with a finger tracing along Jordan’s palm who let his hand encase the touch there.

“You tell me.” He said voice low and Adam’s breath caught visibly at that. His eyes flickered, threaded brow raised.

“Consider me mid-woo.”

“Let’s take it into first date territory then so I can fully woo you. Did your family mind about you going into teaching?” He asked, and Adam’s smile didn’t seem to dull even with the next words he spoke.

“They don’t know. I never told them, just decided it was easier. My dad took long enough to get used to the whole his only son being gay thing, didn’t want to shock him into an early grave too much.” His gulp at his drink until it was drained of its contents told Jordan more than enough and he knew he should have steered the conversation to safer terrain, but their fingers had somehow locked at some point and Adam’s gaze met his when he squeezed the dancer’s hand.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, Ads.”

“Says you with the job that no one looks down upon.” He said it like a joke, but Jordan just shook his head.

“When I saw you dancin’ on the stage for the first time, it was like I was the only other person in the room with you. That’s a talent that, to make hundreds of people feel like they’re the only ones with you.” Jordan was thrown back to the memory of that day, when he should have seen Adam’s profession as a warning sign but instead embraced it like a welcome home banner.

If Jordan thought with his head more, perhaps he’d still be sharing sad mid-week pints with Milner, smiling in all the right places when he’d talk about the life he had with his wife that Jordan feared would never be on the cards for him.

“One of those people is the only one with me now.” Adam’s voice was thoughtful, soft and Jordan couldn’t quash the want in his stomach anymore. He didn’t need the first date pretenses, he didn’t need it because they weren’t conventional. All he wanted was Adam, however and wherever it was.

“Ads.” Jordan sat forward as he breathed through his nerves. “You don’t have to say yes, but.”

“But-“

“Come home with me. I don’t wanna ruin the date or anything and I’m not askin’ for sex. Just-” Jordan said, looking up at Adam who was staring back at him.

“Shall we sack off this meal and grab a takeaway on the way back?” Adam interrupted Jordan's awkwardness, smile growing as Jordan’s did, the pair downing the remainders of their drinks before making their way to the door and out down the street.

And maybe allowing himself to feel was opening up new avenues for Jordan because it really seemed to be working out for him. Taking chances, daring to make risks. Jordan didn’t know what being high felt like. He’d tried weed once as a teenager, but it didn’t really have an effect on him, it gave him a headache and made him sleepy if anything. But the kind of high that gets people hooked was how he felt walking down the road from the tube station with Adam Lallana. They were bumping shoulders, Hendo holding a bag of alcohol and Adam holding a bag of cheap takeaway. It took longer than necessary to get back to his place, because they kept stopping be it from Jordan doubled over in laughter or Adam stopping to show him a dance move or in excitement of a story he got too carried away with.

It was pretty much perfect and perhaps the best first date Jordan had ever had.

*

“So, between Milner, Kane and Vardy?” Adam laughed, holding his wine glass close to his chest as the flush from the drink set his cheeks in a peachy glow. Jordan nodded with a smile, taking a sip from his own glass as they sat facing one another, legs curled up beneath them on his large couch.

Empty food containers littered the coffee table, Adam’s phone hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker and Kenny’s snores a low rumble as he slept off the excitement of a new guest from the comfort of his bed in the corner.

“Fuck, Kane cos I reckon he’s got the whole dominant Mr Grey thing going on. Marry Vardy because he could make me laugh every day and I’m gonna have to say Lap-dance Milner cos I barely know him.” Adam smirked, fingers digging into the soft fur of the blanket haphazardly thrown over them.

“That’s true, after all you barely know me, and I’ve already gotten a lap-dance.”

“Fuck off!” Adam hollered, swatting at Jordan’s leg and the younger man would be completely lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that Adam let his hand just sit there, thumb stroking across a fold in Jordan’s jeans as he took another drink from his wine like it was his intention all along.

“Alright Jord, fuck, marry, lap-dance out of… Lingard, Salah or me.” Adam said biting his bottom lip and Jordan couldn’t help but follow the movement, his body already feeling light from the alcohol and the feeling of Adam’s warm hand on him.

“Salah is the bloke with the curly hair and the-“

“The?” Adam laughed, hand rolling around in front of him as thought trying to coax the rest of the sentence out of Jordan.

“The aptitude for gymnastics.” Jordan opted for through their laughter.

“The one and only!”

“And Lingard is your aggy little mate.”

“So, you do listen.” Adam gasped mockingly leaning forwards for the wine bottle and distributing an obscene amount into both of their glasses.

“I’m full of surprises, me!” Jordan sighed, contemplating the question and trying to talk his cock down from its attempt to stand up right just from Adam shifting that little closer as he awaited Jordan’s response. “Right, I’d lap-dance, Lingard cos that way it would be awkward for the both of us, cos I’m shit at dancing! Fuck, Salah because I’ve been meaning to work my way through the rest of the karma sutra!” Adam’s loud cackle had heat unfurling in his stomach, so he allowed himself an indulgent look at the man who knew what he was going to say next. From the smile on his face it seemed he had made the right call. “And I’d marry you, I guess.”

“Marriage already? Jord, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get too cocky, just means that way I can get all the fuckin’ lap-dances I want!” He laughed, taking a long gulp and not even noticing the look Adam was pinning him with until he looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“You can anyway you know.”

“I can what?”

“ _Get all the fuckin’ lapdances you want_.” Adam repeated, depositing his wine glass on the coffee table and Jordan followed the movement as his mind tried to catch up with exactly what Adam had just insinuated.

“I’m no longer a member in case you’ve forgotten! I was ostracized like an ultimate pervert! I’ve probably had my picture stuck up in the staff room, with a banner over the top reading ‘ _be careful of this sex pest_.’”

“I promise it’s a flattering shot!” Jordan scoffed at that, but then Adam’s hand was back on his knee and Jordan’s throat dried instantly “But seriously, you could still get the _Lallana experience_ without a membership.”

“Is that so?” Jordan said simply, looking at Adam’s mouth which was so fucking pink it would be a sin not to kiss it. “You gonna give us a lap-dance are ya?”

He didn’t anticipate the mood to shift so suddenly, but it had. Adam’s eyes dark as he canted his head in a flirtation that had Jordan’s hands itching to reach out. His wine-soaked mind didn’t give him enough reason not to, and so he did, hand rising to stroke across Adam’s cheek who nuzzled into the touch.

“If I said I’d thought about nothing else since that night in the blue room, would you believe me?”

“Yeah, because I’ve been having the same problem.” Jordan’s throat dried as soon as he spoke to words because Adam had thrown a leg over him, straddling him in one graceful movement.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, you could snap my bedsheet in half.” Jordan joked as the man on his lap threw his head back.

“I’ve never been so disgusted and turned on all at once.” Adam pressed their foreheads together Jordan’s hands running up and down his back, feeling out the body beneath the shirt and humming in appreciation of what he felt.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“I see that.” Adam whispered, and Jordan couldn’t stop the force that moved them together at the same time. Their lips met, and it was feather-light and gentle, so far removed from their first kiss and it made Jordan feel light-headed with the absolute softness of it. Like Adam was mapping out each curve of the blonde’s mouth, committing to memory each slide of tongue against tongue.

Adam let his hips roll down and Jordan couldn’t suppress the moan that tumbled from his mouth and straight into the performer’s. It wasn’t until the fourth press down on Hendo’s cock that he realised Adam’s moves were in time to the music.

Adam encouraged Jordan to sit back, breaking from the kiss and placing his hands flat on the plains of the blonde’s chest. He was staring up at him helplessly, swollen lips and raised brow as he got lost in the way Adam moved. Like he was born to do exactly that. He seemed to move like a serpent, body coiling and moving with a grace reserved for predators seeking out their prey and Jordan felt entirely helpless in Adam’s line of vision.

Adam shifted so he was leaning back on Jordan’s thighs and Jordan was staring down at the hips that were only inches from his chest, Adam’s teeth biting his lip seductively as he twisted elegantly, crawling to the floor and turning so his own face was inches from Jordan’s crotch and obviously rock-hard cock.

“You’re fuckin’ sinful.”

“Should I repent?” Adam asked, bringing his palms together in a loose imitation of prayer but Jordan was growling, leaning forwards and lifting the man up so he was back on his lap. The heat he missed so much back, as their lips met once more. Now it was reminiscent of their first, Adam’s teeth nipping at Jordan’s bottom lip who bucked up against the dancer, bringing their clothed cocks together for a long drawl of a hip roll.

Adam’s fingers curled in the hem of Jordan’s t-shirt, body still moving to the rhythm of the song playing from the speakers as he encouraged the garment over Jordan’s head, separating their kiss. Jordan’s eyes were trained on Adam who threw the shirt across the room, dismissively.

“Customers don’t get their kit off if I recall.” He said, voice catching in his throat as Adam continued to dance, hands flat on Jordan’s chest who was fearful his hammering heart would be exposed where their skin met.

“When they look like this they should, fuck Jordan.” It occurred to Hendo then, that with all the skin of Adam’s he had seen, Adam had not and the look of pure appreciation on the older man was enough to have the blonde rolling his hips up again. “And I think you’re forgetting, you’re not a customer anymore.” Jordan let his hands run down the curves of Adam’s front, feeling his muscles beneath his touch and it felt liberating to not be at risk of being rugby tackled by Skrtel and Agger for the sheer pleasure of just indulging in it.

Jordan’s fingers found their way to the dip of Adam’s sternum, unbuttoning his shirt, working his way down. Adam’s eyes didn’t once leave his, their chests heaving in the silence of the room. His shirt fell open and Jordan allowed the moment to let his hands run along the toned body exposed to him, eliciting a gasp from Adam that gave Jordan enough of a go ahead to rise to his feet.

Adam’s legs wrapped around him and Jordan carried him through the house, Lallana tonguing at his earlobe all the way to his bedroom.

When they made it there Jordan pressed him against the wall, setting him on his feet just so he could groan at the sight of Jordan falling to his knees in front of him. Henderson ran his nose across the ink of a tattoo on the left-hand side of his torso, following the swoop of a rib to the centre, and along again.

Adam let his fingers thread through Jordan’s hair that had begun to fall away from its gelled position, his head titled back as he just breathed steady, cock visibly straining inside his jeans just beneath Jordan’s head.

Jordan wondered how often Adam had been in a position where he was worshiped, compared to the amount of times he spent trying so desperately to seek out others approval. He pressed a kiss just below Adam’s nipple, enjoying the goose-bumps that followed the movement, nipple hardening into a nub just to welcome his lips around it, tongue swiping across it teasingly. Just as Jordan was about to turn his attention to the thick cock in his eye-line he was being pulled up from his knees.

“Is this what you want, Jord?” Adam asked, voice just above a whisper and Jordan’s entire body shuddered as he allowed for an arm to curl around the dark-haired man’s waist. Adam was hyper-tuned into Jordan’s frequency because he was practically melting at every touch, eyes fluttering as he looked up at the blonde through a fan of dark lashes.  Jordan’s hands danced across sun-kissed skin, up defined arms, across broad shoulders in an exploration of the curves of him.

Adam was something new and fragile, every bump and curve telling a story and Jordan was a knowledge hungry man starving for the rest of the book. The silence was turning to static in his ears as they just stared at one another, like they didn’t know how to fully comprehend the moment finally being for the taking, but Jordan would be dammed if he let it pass him by. Not when his heart was hammering, and his cock was straining against his underwear. He swallowed thickly, arousal sitting low in his belly as he looked at Adam through hooded eyes.

The question seemed fucking stupid, is this what you want Jordan? How could Adam think anything else, when all Jordan thought of was Adam.

Jordan angled their faces together and the kiss he was met with had the heat to melt him on the spot.

“Control me, Jord.” Was probably the last thing Jordan expected to hear and it had him groaning out regardless.

“Are you sure?”

“What’s this tell you?” Adam’s hand wrapped around Jordan’s wrist, guiding his palm between their bodies and pressing it against the large bulge in his jeans. Jordan growled out, pushing Adam back against the wall, kissing down his neck and eliciting the softest sounding whimpers from the dancer whose fingers fluttered over Jordan’s sweat-slick skin. It was electric, like the weeks since they had met had just been a bubbling tension, Jordan's tongue searching out Adam's once more.

God, he tasted faintly of Merlot and Jordan felt drunk on the taste alone, he pulled away despite the desire to crawl into Adam's mouth and burrow under his tongue. He started stripping himself completely, moving towards the middle of the room and depositing his jeans and underwear as he did so. Adam's eyes followed the movements hungrily, shedding his own clothes until they were stood a naked reflection before one another.

It felt strange looking at Adam and seeing him in the backdrop of his bedroom. His intimidatingly handsome figure stood among Jordan's most personal possessions. The blonde reached out a hand, stroking across the welts of old scars down Adam's skin who huffed out an aroused breath, cock twitching up against his stomach as it strained through its hardness.

Fuck his cock was big, thick and long and Jordan knew instantly why people fucking paid for it.

“Get on your hands and knees. Spread your legs a little.” Jordan instructed awkwardly. He had most certainly never been a controlling person especially in the bedroom and just as he was about to huff out an embarrassed apology, Adam’s eyes fluttered, hand giving his cock as squeeze as he nodded.

It was safe to say that Jordan had thought about fucking Adam every night since their first meeting. Thought about mapping out his skin until he was fluent in whatever Adam's body was telling him. Thought about licking into him, being licked into, fucking Adam's face, being fucked even. He'd thought of it all and after every lonely orgasm he'd lay back and wonder if Adam ever even wanted to see him again. It was enough to drive him crazy and he felt no saner with Adam getting down onto his hands and knees with an obedience that made Jordan subconsciously fist his dick.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him, before _South of Heaven_ , before Adam, Jordan had been rather demure when it came to sex and now he was staring down at the perfect arch of Adam’s back.

Jordan stopped after a few moments of touching his cock, pretty sure he could come from the sight of Adam alone. Body on fire and lungs burning with the need to scream the dancer's name from the rooftops. He dropped to his knees behind the man who waited for his next move. Anticipation most likely curling low in his gut and sending his cock weeping at the tip.

“You ready for me?” Jordan whispered, breath rolling out hotly against the shell of Adam's ear who nodded shakily, fingernails digging into the rug at the foot of Jordan's bed, legs trembling slightly from his position. Jordan kissed a trail down his spine, over the bumps of vertebrae raised against tan skin like Braille and Jordan’s tongue was a blind man in need of educating.

 He nipped along the way, sucking bruises in his wake. His cock was twitching with every mewl emitting from Adam. He was being so obedient, knuckles white as he clutched at the rug beneath him, body still except for the shudders from Jordan's teeth.

 He reached his arse, hand scrambling blindly for his jeans at his side and pulling out his wallet to retrieve the sachet of lube and condom he now kept behind his bankcard. Not that he expected to fuck Adam, but their history had pretty much told him that not touching Adam was entirely off the cards so being prepared was the least he could be. He teased his breath across the curve of Adam's peachy arse, watching goose-bumps rise to the surface in time with his breathy whines as Jordan busied himself with slicking up three fingers.

 It was moving so fast, the heady rush setting his body alight and if he didn’t move with haste he’d melt all together.

 “What do you want baby?” Jordan asked, placing tiny kisses down Adam's lower back, listening to the way Adam’s breath way rolling out in moans. That was all the green light Jordan needed and so he dropped a kiss in the line of Adam’s arse who pushed back slightly in search of more.

 Jordan smirked at that.

 “Daddy knows best.” Adam said with a slight chuckle to his voice and fuck the darkness of his tone sent Jordan's cock twitching embarrassingly up into Adam's thigh who growled at the minimal contact instantly pushing back in searching out for it again only to have Jordan steady him on his lower back with his dry hand.

 “I'm going to finger you open.” Jordan said, voice as calm as it could be as he pushed one finger slowly into Adam. The dancer gasped at the no doubt unsuspecting burn, falling forward slightly only to regain composure enough to allow Jordan to push in a second, setting up a slow teasing rhythm that was drawing out moans like a fucked-up symphony from the man in front of him.

 “Then I'm going to fuck you.” Jordan said simply, twisting his fingers and sneaking a third in. Adam cried out at the stretch, pulling him apart and teasing just enough to not yet touch that part inside him that would send him into a frenzy. The way Adam reacted was so Adam, it was so raw and honest and made Jordan’s cock pulse with the need to come.

 “Please.” Jordan heard the faintest voice say and that was enough to have him pulling out, reaching for the condom and making to wrapping and slicking up his cock. He pressed the tip against Adam's hole, the heat urging him forward and he bit his lip following in and enjoying how their groans seemed near identical as he pushed up to his balls. He stayed frozen for a while allowing Adam to punch at the floor, arse throbbing around his cock and the walls of his insides warm and welcoming, twitching around him in adjustment. Finally, Adam steadied himself on all fours, breathing uneven and arse frozen despite the need to have more.

 Jordan eased himself out slowly, letting his fingers skitter over the curve of an arse-cheek before bringing his palm down for a brisk slap that had Adam hissing out.  Fuck, it was too much and soon enough Jordan was rutting into him relentlessly, hips snapping back and forth and eliciting groan after groan from the man beneath him. The blonde felt the familiar curl of arousal in his gut that signified that he needed to slow the fuck down or he was about to come way too soon.

 He pulled out, Adam's hips rocking back once and twice with needy whines, head thrown back to look at Jordan over his shoulder. Jesus, his pupils were blown, his hair slicking to his forehead and his mouth positively swollen under the abuse of his teeth.

 “ _Jordan_.” He pouted, rocking his hips as though to emphasize. Jordan couldn't concentrate on much really, he was too busy staring at the abused hole he'd just pulled out of. It was slick and red, clenching and unclenching as Adam waited impatiently. Jordan felt mesmerized, couldn't remember the last time he was so fascinated with someone's arsehole. In fact, he was pretty certain he never had been. But holy fuck he was prepared to worship at such an altar from that moment onward. Was prepared to thank the arse God's both old and new if such God's existed.

 Just then he dipped the tip of his thumb into Adam’s entrance, watching it swallow the top of his digit into its inviting, wet heat. He came to the firm conclusion that there were most certainly such things as Arse Gods judging by this fucking hole.

 He leaned forwards kissing the curve that met his arse and his thigh, biting his way along until he was at the rim. God he couldn't even stop himself as he licked a slow delicate stripe over the hole, feeling it twitch under his tongue and his cock seemed to let out a similar throb as Adam's hearty moan echoed off the walls.

 He hoped his neighbors weren’t alert enough to hear. Fuck, Adam had Jordan wrapped around his little finger and Jordan knew it screamed trouble. That nothing good would come of it, but he didn't care of consequences as he licked at the arsehole of the dancer in question, the dark-haired man crying out like he was truly coming undone. It was beautiful, and Jordan would be a fucking idiot to stop that feeling for something as stupid as common sense.

 “Fuck, baby. Such a pretty little arse.” Jordan said, nipping a trail across the swell of Adam's arse. The dancer shuddered, toes curling and thighs trembling as he nodded enthusiastically, hair sticking to his skin as sweat poured from him. Jordan pushed a palm down on his cock. God, he couldn't remember the last time he was this turned on, cock-head purple and weeping with the desperate need to get off.  He wasn't quite sure who was the masochist. Adam who outwardly liked to be submissive or was it him?

 A masochist dressed up in sadist’s clothing.

 “Have you wanted to fuck anyone else since meeting me?” Jordan didn't want to sound as venomous as it came out, but he couldn't suppress the low curl of annoyance that gripped his insides in a stranglehold at the idea of Adam laid out like this to anyone other than himself. He knew Adam did this, but wanting to and having to were two different things? Jordan wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to find out now of all moments.  


“No.” He rushed to say, and he was so fucking sincere that Jordan knew he wasn't lying. Wouldn't dare to in this position, so close on the verge of coming.

 “No? No other client taken your fancy?” Jordan made a point of thrusting in a finger unexpectedly watching as Adam fell forwards back arching and head snapping back at the no doubt welcome intrusion.

 “ _Only you!_ ” Adam purred, fucking himself back on Jordan's steady finger who tried not to feel too smug at that reply.

 “You've touched yourself thinking of me, haven't you?” Jordan chuckled, watching his finger be fed into the hole that swallowed him greedily.

 “Yes. Oh god, yes! Of course!” Adam cried out, clearly affected by the situation. Jordan looked down at him, saw the flush set high on those pretty cheekbones as tears seeped from his eyes at how fucking intense the pleasure of it must have been for him.

 Fucking hell.

 “Now I'm going to eat you out and I want you to tell me what you think of when you're wanking yourself off.” Jordan said, knowing full well the reaction he'd receive as he kept his finger inside the hole that throbbed mercilessly.

 “Jesus. Christ. I think of you.” Adam's words stumbled slightly as Jordan let his tongue slip inside his hole alongside his finger. “Your hands. Your fucking hands.”  Adam shouted, hips working in figures of eight, body agile and fucking sinful. Jordan’s free hand scratched down the arch of Adam's back, the dancer hissing at the feeling.

 “Thought about you spanking me. Fuck, making me fucking cry.” Adam admitted, and Jordan probably should have been ashamed by how his cock twitched at that. God his cock hurt, was fucking painful as it sat like a neglected heavy weight between his legs. He could only imagine how Adam's felt.  His tongue carried on licking and sucking on the rim as he urged in another finger, twisting and searching out for that bundle of nerves that would most likely ruin Adam at this point, so far passed civil.

 “Think about your cock. But fuck-it’s better than I- tho-” His words failed him as he thrashed forwards. Jordan's fingers pounding against his prostate leaving the blonde feeling victorious. Adam was so affected. Jesus Christ. “Fuck!”

 “Carry on, please!” Jordan encouraged going straight back to licking at Adam's arsehole like it was going out of fucking fashion.

 “Think of... y- _you_ -just pound-ing into me” Adam wept, voice shuddering as moans blended in with the high-pitched racking of his sobbing. Jordan was doing just as Adam had said, three fingers deep and tongue working relentlessly into his throbbing hole. God he was being loud, as vocal as Jordan hadn’t even considered, but what a beautiful addition to all that was Adam. It would be a sad life indeed if he never heard Adam's needy groans again. “Jesus Jord, you’re unreal!” Adam's words were muffled, probably due to biting down on something as he fucked himself back. They were moving rather obscenely, Jordan's knees burning at the scraping of the carpet beneath him, one hand working raw over his cock and the other so deep inside Adam it was surprising he wasn't falling out his mouth.

 “Dadd- Jord. Fuck I'm. _You've got me_ -” And he fucking meant it.

 His orgasm crashed out of him, head snapping back, hair strands clung together with sweat dripping down his flexing shoulder blades. His slim feline body arched, cock spurting onto the floor and Jordan's name echoed off the walls like the wail of a lost woman on a moor.

 Adam collapsed, Jordan's fingers slipping out of him. Jordan smirked shuffling closer to the shivering body. Adam was convulsing, still making little whiny whimpers that had Jordan jerking his cock faster and harder until he buckled forwards shooting come over the curve of that delicious arse.

 He sat back on his haunches and tried to catch his breath. Too far gone to consider moving at this point. Adam was lying there now, back rising with the breath he was drawing in as his skin shimmered with sweat and Jordan’s come.

 He reached out after a moment for a sock lying abandoned by his bed, using it to mop at Adam's back, the dancer flinching in surprise before shifting onto his side so Jordan could wipe the come from his stomach. He threw the sock over in the direction of the laundry basket, not surprised when he missed but not really caring because Adam was curling into him on the floor, laughing weakly as he did.

 “Where the fuck did that come from?” Adam eventually said as they returned back from the high, Jordan grounding himself in letting his fingers run up and down the man’s side beside him, skin slick with sweat.

 “You’ve made me a very sexually frustrated man, Lallana.”

 “I intend to give you constant blue balls if that’s how you fuck when you’re wired!” Adam laughed, dropping a kiss onto Jordan’s sternum before rising shakily onto his knees. Jordan watched him go, body too sated to possibly consider moving. Adam rose, legs clicking as he did. He stretched out, skin pulled tight over his chest and exposing his ribs and Jordan was in awe of how good Adam looked in any situation.

 Even now, with slick hair and a softening cock. Jordan had it bad and it hit him like a slap in the face. He eventually pulled himself up, flopping down onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. He wondered what would happen now. Would Adam leave? Would he get dressed, call and Uber and thank him? Would the atmosphere tighten to breaking point before snapping and leaving whatever they had broken and irreparable?

 Before he could over-think anything, the bed was dipping, and Adam was lying beside him, still completely naked.  The blonde turned into him, capturing that intoxicating mouth into a kiss that Adam returned lazily.

 “Can I ask you something?” Jordan asked, pulling back as Adam smiled up at him, hands threading through blonde strands of sex damp hair.

“Of course!”

“When you escort and that, are you submissive with them?” Jordan bit his lip, watching the way Adam’s face settled into the question. It was a fleeting moment, Adam’s eyes flickering over the contours of Jordan’s face before he swallowed.

He shook his head.

“No, even if they’ve specified a certain kink. I always have to be in control.” It was understandable, and perhaps Jordan knew that.

“Right.”

“What we just did Jord, that wasn’t what I do with them, you know?”

“I know. This is different.”

“Can you promise me that you know that?” Adam asked quietly, finger tracing along Jordan’s clavicle who swallowed the rush of feelings that fled to the front of his mouth in words he wanted to say but couldn’t so when he opened his mouth they turned to a sigh.

“I know that. I’ve been gone on you since we first met. I spent 4 fuckin’ grand on a membership just so I could see you again. I got banned from a strip club because I couldn’t stop the pull between us.” His raw honesty had Adam smiling, perhaps in thanks. For accepting one truth for another. Whatever Adam was thinking, his fingers were still toying with Jordan’s hair and he was still leaning into the touches the blonde was leaving along his body.

“I’ve never been in trouble in work before, in case you were wondering.” Adam’s voice was so quiet Jordan nearly missed it. “Like no blokes have ever well, grabbed my attention so much before.”

“Adam.” Jordan said quietly, the dancer looking up at him inquisitively. God, the question was right there, teasing at Jordan’s mind.

_Be my boyfriend. Be my other half, come into my life and make it a part of yours. Let me paint whatever we have together in vibrant hues until it creates something beautiful._

He leant down placing a soft kiss on awaiting lips before pulling away.

“Stay the night.” He said instead, if Adam was expecting him to say something else he didn’t say anything, just licked his lips and nodded.

After all, one night was better than none.

 

 


	18. Antoine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long, life has been hectic! Enjoy!

 

For the first time in a long time, Antoine had to admit to himself that he felt rather lost in his life. There seemed to be a subtle shift among those he was working with. Everyone seemed to be getting on with their lives, flourishing in their personal relationships and thriving beyond belief. Antoine couldn’t help the bitter tug of jealousy gripping his heart in a vice-like grasp whenever Tripps would talk about his girlfriend with a smile. Whenever Adam would smile down at his phone and pretend the message on his screen had nothing to do with the blonde man who couldn’t keep his hands off him whenever he turned up to the club. Hell, even Mo had met someone, walking into work with a spring in his step and showing off his phone and the extensive messages he’d been exchanging with some hot-shot Croatian business manager.

Antoine smiled as sincerely as he could, sipping at his peppermint tea in increments and watching Mo blush. John and Neymar were crowded around the Egyptian, looking over the guy’s profile on the dating app Salah had joined a few weeks back.

“Jesus, his profile picture is a snap from him in some fancy skyline bar in a suit! Very suave!” Neymar elbowed Mo with a cheeky grin and all Antoine could do was observe the guy who was utterly giddy from the intoxicating rush of a fresh romance. It was such a forgotten feeling to Antoine now, one he couldn’t quite remember having because his feelings for Olivier were so very different.

They had begun much that same way, blushes and heated kisses in the shadows, giggling and dancing in the street to music that wasn’t there. But as the years passed and life began taking over it became evident that the honeymoon phase couldn’t last, responsibility got in the way.

“So, you’re taking this guy out then?” John asked feet up on the chair in front of him in the dressing room. He was leaning back, all soft skin and defined muscle with a shadow under his eyes that seemed to be part of the uniform for being a stripper.

“We’re going out for a drink tomorrow evening. We’ve already talked about meeting for dinner next week at this amazing French restaurant! You are all more than welcome to come! Bring your partners!” Mo gestured around, locking eyes with Antoine who shrugged.

“I will see what Olivier says, Mo.” If Mo recognised the unsure nature of his tone he didn’t say anything, just turned to John with a beam and leaving Antoine staring at the surface of his tea. He was worried that if Mo had pried at all into Antoine’s reservations then the whole story would unravel, and the gory details of his feelings would run a river between them.

“John, will Emily wish to come?”

“I’ll see mate.” John said with a wink and a smile less bright than it perhaps should have been and Antoine recognised that look too much, it felt immediately like a reflection of himself and he furrowed his brow. It was weird seeing that look on someone else other than himself, John’s demeanor instantly changed. His eyes staring down at his own mug like it was the most interesting thing in the world, mouth poised in a pout like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“So, tell me more about this Dejan guy, then!” Neymar said, sitting next to Salah who launched into his description, Antoine smiling despite himself because Mo’s happiness was infectious. John must have been immune somehow, or perhaps he wasn’t paying attention.

Antoine couldn’t really take his eyes off John for the rest of the conversation. Mo finishing his deconstruction of his conversations with Dejan, but Antoine still focused on Stones. Even when Messi and Alisson walked in with Eden laughing and joking and turning the volume of the room up several decibels. But John seemed to wrapped up in his own thoughts and it wasn’t until the room emptied of dancers that John’s gaze finally met Antoine’s.

“Are you all right John?” Ant asked, Stones looking down at his hands from his position at one of the dressing room tables. It occurred to Antoine a while after the others left that John hadn’t actually been getting ready, instead he was instead sat in his boxers with one rolled up sock in his hands.

“Of course, yeah.” He said unconvincingly and Griezmann took the moment to move to a closer chair, eyebrow raised.

“You seem, reserved?” There was a silence, John’s expression looking pained before he sighed looking towards the Frenchman.

 “You said you thought you were straight when you were younger, right?” That wasn’t exactly what Ant had expected him to say, sure he knew of John’s predicament with the guy from his university course, but he didn’t think it was as big of a deal as Olivier thought it was.

Perhaps Antoine didn’t give his boyfriend enough credit.

“Yeah I did.” Antoine had grown up in a beautiful little town, where he’d spent his adolescence riding his bike around the cobbled streets with his friends. He’d been asked many a time if he had a crush on Celeste, the girl in his friend’s group with wide brown eyes and a flicking black bob that cut into her cheekbones so prettily.

He knew then that he should have had a crush on her, but he didn’t. And perhaps that’s where the self-doubt had first begun.

“What changed?”

“I met Olivier.” Antoine answered because if Celeste had been where the doubt had started, having Olivier climb into the passenger side of his car and fix him with glacial blue eyes edged in a familiar vulnerability had been the flashing neon sign.

“It was really that simple?” John smirked with a sad laugh, fingering a hole in the stocking he was poised to put on at any moment. Antoine sighed, sitting back in his seat and thinking.

“Well no, I guess I’d always found men attractive, but Olivier was the first man I allowed myself to be attracted to if that makes sense?”

He missed that feeling of freedom washing over him and bathing him in a light warmer than any sunny day on the river bank could have. But realising his attraction to Olivier and then acting on it in a whimsical kiss in the pouring rain of a hospital car park had been the most liberated he’d ever felt.

And had ever since.

“Yeah. I get that.”

“Kyle?” Antoine said his name just to see how John would react. Stones’ gaze snapped up to him as though to protest, but before he could dare say anything he just scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’m going insane, Ant. He’s all I can think about.”

“And Emily?” That was perhaps unfair, but it felt like a glaring fault in the operation of John’s affection and Stone shut down once more, leaning forwards on the table and covering his face with his hands.

“I don’t want to break her heart.”

“Heartbreak is never easy.” He didn’t know why, but as he thought it he had a flash of Olivier’s laughter with the new guy Ben Pavard. A ripple of jealousy jolted through him and he shifted on his seat to distract himself from the thoughts.

Antoine had been actively avoiding Ben since he began working for the club, he’d found himself walking away whenever the younger man approached, and it was beginning to become obvious to those around, but what could he do? He couldn't bare to see him, his mind often playing out an infinite loop of images of Olivier's face when Ben had introduced himself to Antoine. Like there was something unsaid resonating between the three. It was driving Griezmann insane with his ever growing concern and before he knew what had happened it was all he could think about.

“Was it worth it? Leaving everything behind for Olivier?”

“Yes.” Antoine swallowed down. It was the truth, of course it was. But it felt a lot less like the truth when Olivier felt so distant from him.

And still Antoine’s thoughts zoned in on Ben Pavard.

“I barely know the man. But every time I try to get to know him, I can’t remove this sense of…”

“Want?” Antoine answered for him and watched as a small smile graced John’s lips for the smallest of moments. So fleeting, he would have missed it had he not been looking for it.

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes you don’t need to know someone. I knew Olivier for a day before I realised he was special. Sometimes that’s all it takes.” That was still true. He was sure of it. “Ignore the other lads, they think with their heads too much. And as the only resident gay man in a relationship for longer than 5 years you should follow your heart on this one.”

Stones had laughed, drawing the smaller man in for a hug and Antoine hugged back hoping John couldn’t read his mind as well as he seemed to read John’s.

Antoine wasn’t dancing on the night, he had gone into work for lack of anything else to do. He didn’t want to spend his day off sat at home and reading through his book collection, lost in his thoughts. Though that didn’t stop his journey to the car park to be completely plagued with the conversation he had just had with John.

John loved Emily. Of course, he did, they’d been together for 3 years and that love just doesn’t stop. But he had begun investing time in another. It was unfair, but so was the way of life. Even as he was pulling out the car park he couldn’t remove from his mind the vision of John cheating on his girlfriend because how long away would it be until that happened?

Antoine slammed his hands down on the steering wheel, beeping at the driver who was only slightly delayed in pulling away from the newly changed green light. But his body was full of a nervous energy that was vibrating inside him all the way home that filled him with annoyance and unheeded irritation.

Olivier wasn’t home, he’d texted a while back and said he was going to the store after the gym to do their weekly shop, so Antoine just let himself in and made his way straight to the bedroom.

He walked passed the imported Italian side table, where his keys, some letters and a cheque sat perched on. The cheque still hadn’t been cashed. Almost as though neither could bring themselves to do it, despite Antoine wanting the memory to disappear. Despite Olivier wanting so desperately for the trip back to France that Antoine had given the green light on.

If he was honest, Ant was more fearful of the idea of returning to France than he ever had been of Hathaway’s smug aura and heavy hands.

There were so many ghosts that haunted the streets of France for Antoine. So many people who didn’t accept him, who didn’t want him to be happy. And how could he return now? Maybe he could see his sisters who he still spoke to, but to return with Olivier when they were at such a loose end with their relationship, it felt like coming home just to tell his family they had been right.

That it hadn’t worked out.

He shuddered, moving towards the bedroom and dropping down face first onto the freshly changed sheets. God, they smelt of Olivier, of the fancy cologne he got sent from some little boutique outside of Paris. Antoine let his hands fist the material, bringing it to his nose and breathing in the scent of his boyfriend. It sent an instant jolt of arousal to him and he was predictably hard just from the smell alone.

He growled in frustration, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He knew they had to make the effort to make their relationship work, that no relationships just happened, that they all need a little push every now and again.

Their situation was just the moment that triggered the little push in the right direction and soon enough they will be back to their happy selves. He hoped anyway.

The door opened later on in the evening, Antoine not even looking up from his kindle as he heard his boyfriend make his ritualistic routine of getting home.

Keys in the dish on the side, dropping bags beside the floor length mirror in the hallway groan with a stretch, padding footsteps that got closer as he advanced on their bedroom in a hunt for his boyfriend. Upon entering the room, Antoine did abandon his kindle, smiling at Olivier as he crawled onto the end of the bed.

“There wasn’t any Nutella, so I got off-brand.” He began, drawing nearer to Ant. “Hope you don’t mind.” Olivier let his lips brush against Griezmann’s arm as the younger man laced his fingers through Giroud’s hair.

He was still as beautiful as the day they met, a boyish charm to him that seemed so familiar and yet so unfaltering different.

“I don’t mind.” His voice was low, and Olivier’s tongue darted out to lick across his bottom lip, eyes following the shift of Antoine’s face from the flush of his cheeks to the arch of his brow. He knew whenever Ant had sex on his mind, the pair moving in some kind of mental synchronicity and Antoine practically watched the flush of heat spread across Olivier’s cheeks.

“You seem tense.”

“I’m fine, perhaps just a little tired.” Griezmann said, mentally hoping for the hand that tracked down his body in a teasing notion. God, he didn’t know why he was so turned on. Perhaps Olivier had that effect on him, even after all the years that lay between them like open pages.

“Oh, there seems to be a part of you that’s a lot tenser than others.” Olivier chuckled, finger dancing across the tenting in Antoine’s sweatpants. The younger man sucked in a breath at the touch that felt teasing and feather-light through the thin material. The spark of instant heat began curling low in his stomach and his hips shifted towards the friction that Olivier was in control of handing out.

Antoine didn’t even know why he was turned on. Perhaps there was some unconscious correlation between Olivier and him being in bed. Maybe it was an intrinsic link to sex that his body responded quicker than his mind could and soon enough he was twisted into his boyfriend who was dropping little kisses down his bare arm.

“Does my angel want to release that tension?” Olivier asked, accent thick as he curled English words into the small space left between them. Antoine was letting his hard cock press against the older man’s thigh as their legs lay tangled together.

“ _Yes he does_.” He responded in French, knowing full well that Olivier would growl out a moan before lunging in for a kiss that Antoine echoed. The heat was spreading across his body as it usually did, starting from his toes and gathering at his groin that was twitching for attention.

Olivier’s chuckle didn’t help matters. Antoine sucked in a breath as his boyfriend smirked at him, pulling down his sweatpants passed his knees his throbbing length freeing at the motion.

“ _You’re so pretty, my love_.” Olivier said, staring down at his boyfriend who couldn’t help but preen underneath the look, he stretched openly on the bed. He let his legs fall open, not missing the shift in Giroud’s breathing as he was confronted with the hard cock now on display.

“How pretty?” Antoine said in English, just to see if Olivier would notice. But he didn’t he was staring at the younger man’s cock and Antoine would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

“ _Pretty enough that I want to worship you.”_

_“Then stop talking.”_ Ant said, thumb and finger clutching at Oli’s chin who darted a tongue out to lick obscenely along the flat of his palm. The motion went straight to Antoine’s cock and he was more than happy as his boyfriend shuffled down his body, peppering kisses along all the planes he knew would appreciate them as he went.

A kiss and a flick of a tongue to a nipple, causing Antoine’s back to arch. Blowing air out in the dip of his sternum, causing goose-bumps to rise to the skin’s surface. Teeth nipping at the jutting of a hip-bone, causing Antoine to groan in arousal.

It was a well-rehearsed performance and Griezmann found he was never dulled by the finale. Giroud looking up at him through golden lashes, hands stroking along Antoine’s slim thighs.

Antoine sucked in a breath, hands threading through Olivier’s hair as the older man’s skilled tongue lapped at the head of his cock before sinking down onto the length. The pleasure was low in his stomach whirling around and he felt the rush of warmth tangled in every nerve the more Olivier twisted the base of his dick, sucking expertly as he went.

He couldn’t even remember why their relationship felt so strained when he was biting down on his lip and thrusting up into the hot wet heat that enveloped him. There was a fire inside Antoine, as he rose his hips up in a desperation to get off, his boyfriend’s mouth wrapped as expertly around him as always. But it wasn’t the fire that once burned red hot within him, that fire had flickered throughout the years. It subsided with every argument, the heat diminishing until what remained was a single candle and the glistening of glowing embers.

He felt tears pricking at his eyelids, his head snapping back and his hips rolling into the climax that had his toes curling. He let their fingers link and the feeling of Olivier’s touch was just as comforting as it always had been. But those hands had imprinted on many memories, smudging the laughter and the joy into smears unseen. Because these hands were now holding doors open for Ben, were slipping down Ben’s arm as the two would be stood near the stage during rehearsal. All those times Antoine had felt like a voyeur, like a trespasser and each time it lead to another brick in the wall he hadn’t realised he’d been building between him and Giroud.

Because Olivier seemed none the wiser, he knew they were still on tentative ground from the Hathaway incident which very much felt like the beginning of the end. Olivier seemed distracted. Antoine would catch him looking at him sometimes, averting his gaze immediately as though he wasn’t able to look at his own boyfriend anymore.

Or was that because Antoine had made him feel uncomfortable to? Because Antoine would just snap out a harsh “what now?” instead of smiling or winking.

But in bed was when Antoine felt as though nothing had changed between them. Olivier still knew every touch, had practiced the pleasure like it was an art form and Griezmann still felt his moans growing up his throat as his lover coaxed another orgasm from him.

He emptied into his boyfriend’s mouth who swallowed him down like usual.

Griezmann stared up at the ceiling, feeling his body come back to him, his heart slowing back to its normal rate as Olivier dropped kisses along his skin until he was rolling away and off the bed all together. He went silently to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and starting up the shower as the younger man just lay there boneless.

It wasn’t the same kind of sated boneless that used to occupy his body after they fucked, it was one that felt distinctly like routine. As though Olivier had other things to do.

Ant dragged himself up, sighing out and wiping down his softening cock before undressing completely.

He heard a vibration and looked to the bedside table.

Olivier’s phone had lit up.

Griezmann stared at the bathroom door, slightly ajar, allowing fluorescent light to seep into the shadows of the room where he was stood. The shower was running, Olivier humming along as he so often did.

Antoine swallowed thickly, looking to the phone left on the table, thumb swiping the screen and watching as it game to life.

_Software update available_

_Invitation to a Facebook group_

_Text message from B: Hahahaha knew I could count on you_ _😉 xx_

The twist in his stomach felt like a stab of betrayal and the string of messages from one Ben Pavard in his boyfriend’s phone was very much the knife that did the damage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update is Jesse's! I know a lot of people are invested in his story and I promise it's coming soon!  
> Thanks for reading and supporting me. This story means a lot to me x


	19. Jesse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! Life has a nasty habit of getting in the way!  
> Really hope you enjoy this one, let me know if you did <3  
> Again thanks to all who are still reading, I appreciate it more than you know <3

 

Jesse flicked through Netflix, not really paying much attention to what exactly was happening on the screen as he tried to find something to focus on in the space of his free evening.

The work group chat was piling in with their suggestions which soon deteriorated into unorganised chaos, much as it usually did:

 **GayCRISIS2018** : Srsly, can we change my name back?  
  
**Baemar** : NO CHANCE :’)  
  
**VardysHavinAParty** : Sorry Stones, ur stuck with this 1!

He dropped his phone down on the sofa next to him, settling back into the warmth of the blankets and pillows he’d burrowed for himself. It wasn’t a nest and it certainly wasn’t self-pity, even if Adam Lallana thought it was.

What did he know anyway?

Truth of the matter is Jesse had had a few days off work. Not because he was unable to go in and dance, but because he couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face walking out onto the stage and seeing a twisted reflection of Marcus’ face in all those in the audience. He couldn’t bear the thought of weaving through the dancefloor with the panicked memory of following Rashford still so tangible in his mind.

And he definitely couldn’t face the way the rest of his friends there would look at him with pity. The pity was probably the reason as to why he was ignoring Dele’s string of messages too. That definitely wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t talk about Marcus.

Not yet.

Just looking at his phone was a chore in of itself. An ultimate paradox because Rashford’s stupid snapchat photo was still the background that he couldn’t imagine changing.

But couldn’t imagine looking at ever again.

It was hell on earth and he was kind of glad that his doorbell went because even if it meant another noise complaint from his neighbour downstairs it was at least something that he could focus on that didn’t have any ties to Marcus Rashford.

He stumbled his way to the door, Netflix on pause and the fear that rushed through him upon opening the door was reserved for cliché movie moments, where the lead fucks up exponentially and must face the music.

He just stared as Marcus looked back at him with a sad and very forced smile.

It seemed as though the music was well and truly in need of facing.

“I swung by the club earlier, they told me it was your day off.” He eventually said, voice timid and unsure and Jesse just nodded vacantly.

“Right.” His voice cracked and whatever amount of bravery he had been trying to surface during the passing days was immediately lost the more he looked at his best friend.

Fuck, did Marcus even want to be that anymore?

He was there though, and that surely meant something.

“Jess, can we talk?” Jesse simply stared at him, his feet felt stuck to the floor and all Marcus could do was stand there biting his lips together and fidgeting in the hallway. Eventually Jesse gave in, stepping back and allowing his friend to come into the flat, closing the door behind them and leaving them trapped in a veil of quiet that felt never ending.

The room was pregnant with the silence, Jesse rubbing the back of his neck and wanting to crawl out of his own skin at the feeling.

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said when I found out what you do for a livin’ it was uncalled for. It was rude, and that _ain’t_ me. You _know_ that ain’t me.” Marcus said voice controlled, and to his credit he hadn’t let his eyes falter from Jesse’s since the moment he arrived. Jesse on the other hand couldn’t bring himself to look in Rashy’s eyes for too long, much too aware that there was too much said between them now. Much too aware that Marcus knew his feelings for him. “Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck what you do for money, you’re still you-“

“Am I though? Am I still the same guy? Cos I don’t think you’ll ever look at me the same.” Jesse said, cringing as his mind replayed that night on repeat, tormenting him with the sight of Rashford staring at him like he was a stranger, as Jesse watched him leave, body frozen as each step Marcus took seemed to beat with an echo of the hammering heart in his chest.

“I won’t. Too much has been said for me to look at you the same. But-“

“But?” Jesse asked, brow raised, and mouth open agape, hope rising in his throat like bile. It was twisted, how the butterflies that had tortured him for years, continued to flutter against his ribs whenever Marcus so much as looked at him and at that one small word they felt like a hurricane inside of him.

“But I need to try something.” Rashford took a step forward, stepping into the path of an orange street light outside, casting the space in a warm glow, stretching shadows across the room and it felt like they were the only two people alive and all Jesse could do was stare.

“If it’s punching me you already know about that, remember in year 10?” Jesse said weakly, thinking how much he yearned for those simpler days, when him and Marcus would argue about the most trivial shit but would be best friends again 10 minutes later.

“Nah it’s not punchin’ you, Jess.” Marcus’ voice softened, and Jesse felt the air rush out his lungs as he finally pieced together the situation. He focused on Marcus drifting closer, his friend’s brow furrowed and determined, his eyes on Jesse’s lips who shook his head. His heart swooped painfully in his chest, sinking underneath the memories of their laughter, of the closeness they were on the precipice of losing. They were stood on a cliff’s edge, the waves underneath cutting into the rocks below and quaking the ground that held them. Jesse had never felt so vulnerable to falling and he didn’t even know if Marcus was on solid ground or not.

“I can’t have you doin’ this for fun mate, this is my life.” Lingard’s voice was timid, jolting and shaking in all the places that made him want to clear his throat, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to make a sound above a whisper in case it shattered whatever it was that had them stood chest to chest in his living room.

“You think I’m goin round questionin’ shit for fun?” Marcus asked, eyes warm and round and Jesse wanted to look away, wanted more than anything to not be sucked into the gaze that he knew like the back of his hand.

“What do you mean questionin’?”

“I need to see if what I’m thinkin’ is genuine, or if I’m just confused about what you’ve said, and what I saw. I need to know Jess, I can’t be overthinking everythin’ we’ve done as mates, I need to know for sure.” Marcus was close now, so close Jesse could smell his cologne, could feel his body heat edging nearer.

“I don’t think I can handle this goin’ bad, Rashy.” Jesse confessed in a whisper, feeling rather like he was burning slowly alive from within and then Marcus’ hands were rising and cupping his face, resembling the night outside the pub all those weeks ago.

Jesse let out a soft whimper, the touch so delicate and such a stark contrast to the last time he saw Marcus in the club’s back alley.

“Course you can’t, I’m irresistible.” He joked, lips twitching upwards slightly.

“On second thoughts, I don’t fancy you.” Jesse said through a huff of laughter. Marcus let his thumbs stroke along the contours of his friend’s face, brow knitted together carefully. He was deep in thought, eyes flickering over the features of his friend.

And all Jesse could do was wait for the catch.

“Say it again.” Rashford’s voice was feather-light, almost inaudible.

“I don’t fancy you.” Jesse replicated his volume, their voices so quiet he could barely be sure they were speaking aloud.

“Nah, say it for real.”

“I fancy you.” Jesse breathed out the admission, eyes drifting shut as he closed the gap left between him and Marcus before he could think any more of it.

Their lips met, Rashford unmoving as Jesse stood on his tip-toes, hands tentatively holding at the taller boy’s shoulders. He pulled away after a few moments, allowing their breathing to sync and for the reality to settle between them. The cliff didn’t quake, the ground didn’t swallow them whole, the waves didn’t come to sweep him out to his demise. It was peaceful serenity and Jesse felt like he was waiting for the warning signs of chaos ahead, like the initial calm before the storm. “Well now you know.” He said simply, taking a step back, Rashford’s hands falling to his sides as Jesse breathed aloud.

He stepped backwards again in an attempt to distance himself, just to have his efforts thwarted as Marcus found him somehow, arms wrapping around his body and dragging him flush against him.

And then their mouths latched together once more.

Jesse’s hands surged to the back of his friend’s head, anchoring them together as Marcus’ touch was everywhere at once. There was a desperation between them, the pair holding strong as their lips moved from the gentle touch it began with, to the clash of tongue and teeth that it became.

Jesse was being guided backwards until he was pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands clutching at the hem of his shirt, toying with the fabric between his fingers, knuckles catching tempting strokes along Lingard’s jutting hipbone.

The touch was on the wrong side of enough, Jesse shoving his tongue into his friend’s mouth with shameless abandon, fingers dancing across the body he had seen more times than he could count. But now the body was available to him, a palpable and physical thing. It was flesh and bone, arching into his touch beneath his desperate hands. The whole thing was intoxicating, and Jesse broke the kiss, so they were a breath apart, pressed together and breathing in the change in the atmosphere.

Jesse was positively drunk on the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You have to be sure about this Rashy, don’t do this because you think-“

“Stop thinking.” Marcus said bucking his nose against Jesse’s who didn’t really know what to say, didn’t know how to reply. So, he chose the only way he could think of and he kissed the man in front of him once more. Knees near giving out as the heady rush finally caught up to him. But he wouldn’t be left to fall, because Marcus’ arms were still around him holding him close and soaking him in.

He wondered at times when he’d imagined himself and Marcus kissing, if anything would change. If their dynamic would shift, but it he was still waiting for that change. Because it still felt like Marcus, even as the taller man moved them away from the wall, tongue licking into the shorter man’s mouth. The wandered down the hall in their tangled state, the pair stopping every now and then to let the moment wash over them, to taste what they had never tasted before. To be what they never had chance to be before.

 Jesse would be damned if he’d let their mouths separate now after so long of craving the taste.

It was still Marcus. It was the same man he’d known half his life, the same man who he thought hated him. That same man who was shutting the bedroom door behind him and finally breaking away from Jesse to shrug off his tracksuit jacket.

It was the one they had bought together, Jesse’s own version hanging inside his closet and he let his fingers stroke at the familiar material as it fell from his best friend’s arms and onto the floor between them.

Jesse had felt lust before, he’d fisted his cock raw watching porn or just thinking of fucking. But he’d never felt the visceral heat crawling up his skin and seeping into his bones until his body felt hazy and his heart felt erratic.

It was the kind of rush he saw every day on men’s faces. Men who looked flushed and hot, their bodies crying out for attention from the men dancing in front of them. The feeling was a stranger to him, and Marcus let his dark eyes roam over Jesse’s body in an effort to get him acquainted with it.

“I’m hard, Jess.” Marcus said in a whisper, letting his hand track down his body to clutch at the thick outline of his cock through his sweatpants and Lingard’s gaze followed the movement hungrily. He gasped at the suggestion and his own dick twitched as a reflection of arousal.

God, he could reach out and touch! Surely, he’d be able to do that now? Fuck, he’d imagined how Marcus would feel in his hand. The raw heat of him, the sweat slicking Jesse’s palm as his digits wrapped around the flesh. 

“I am too.” It felt strange to be voicing that out loud after popping so many boners around Marcus in the past. But now Rashford was swallowing down his nerves, edging closer and pressing the solid outline of his length against Jesse’s hip.

Jesse’s eyes squeezed shut as he felt the groan leave his mouth, his cock throbbing at the evidence of Marcus’ heated arousal digging into his flesh and telling him that it was real.

Grounding him.

“Touch me Jess, fuck. Please.” Marcus whispered, dragging his lips over Jesse’s jawline who was frozen in place, suddenly so aware that this was a moment in his life that he didn’t want to fuck up. God, he’d envisioned scenes just like this in his mind, when he’d allow himself the indulgence of getting carried away with delusions. But, it wasn’t like that anymore as he exhaled a shaky breath, allowing his hand to pluck at Marcus’ waistband and duck inside.

Lingard groaned out loud as he wrapped a hand around Marcus’ length. Fingers shifting to accommodate the width, hand adjusting to the weight of the cock pressed into his palm as Marcus dropped his head down on Jesse’s shoulder, rolling his hips into the touch.

Rashy’s lips were everywhere at once, Jesse’s moans like a mantra to the rhythm of the mouth that moved over his pulse point, teeth sniping and tongue swiping over the quickening beat of his heart. He was fisting at Marcus’ _large_ cock, and just the feel of it had him twitching like a pre-teen in his boxers.

Jesse was being led to the bed then and he felt his legs hit against the frame, the pair falling clumsily to the mattress as their kisses grew more fervent and their moans deeper. They shed their shirts between them in a daze, heated skin pressed to heated skin.

Marcus moved to drop kisses across his friend’s collarbones whose head had fallen back between the pillows, eyes focused on the man who was making his way down the body that was so familiar in all the ways it was different. Rashford’s body was radiating between them, cooking him in a furnace of pure want and it felt rather like an outer body experience. To see Marcus’ eyes darkened with lust as his hands mapped out Jesse’s body, following the contours and curves like he too was unsure how each moment manifested to this.

There was an array of memories that seemed to interweave with the present, threading the evening with golden silk and forming a blanket that could fall over them and hide them from the rest of the world. The memories were of two awkward school boys squashed side by side on a single bed, that same want saturating adolescent bones. Too nervous, too unsure to act on the impulse. But Jesse wasn’t a young teen anymore, and Marcus wasn’t unsure as he let his fingers hook in the waistband of Jesse’s underwear.

Their eyes met, and Jesse nodded with a hitch of his breath and Marcus was pulling his boxers off, eyes falling to the hard cock left bare in the clothing’s wake. Neither said anything for a minute and Jesse just stared, body trembling with the desire to just reach out to the other man.

It felt strange, unlike when he’d dance nude for blokes with money falling out their pockets because this was driven by Jesse.

This was his fantasy playing out like a cinema reel in front of him and he swallowed thickly, the fear rushing to the surface as he thought about what this meant. He wanted so badly, his body fucking yearning for his best friend’s touch.

He needed this, but he needed to make sure it was exactly what Marcus wanted too.

“We can stop.” Jesse said timidly and before he could finish his sentence Marcus was leaning back on his haunches and Jesse’s sentence transpired into a blissful moan at the sight presented to him. Marcus’ hand was stroking the outline of his hard, thick cock from inside his underwear and the teasing smile on his face said everything he needed to say.

“Does this look like I want to stop?” His voice was dark, and it struck Jesse like a chord who groaned, dick bobbing obscenely from where it was exposed, and Marcus’ tongue licked across his bottom lip as he watched it appreciatively. 

Marcus was hungry for him, it felt like a fever dream. His skin coated in slick sweat, his mind hazy and his body fucking trembling. But it was real, and Jesse fisted at the bed sheet beneath him just to ground himself to reality.

“Do something about it then.”

“You gettin’ bossy now, Jess?” Marcus teased looking at his friend through thick dark lashes as he made to finish removing their clothing. Jesse followed effortlessly, shifting whenever he needed to, the whole time watching with wide eyes and a mouth full with a heavy tongue. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be bossy, big man.”

“Fuck, Marcus-” Jesse groaned as Marcus crawled over him, resuming where they left off with a kiss that had Jesse falling back against the pillows, his friend straddling him in one graceful move.

The kiss was deliberate, and Jesse just indulged in tasting the man. His mind was still spinning like the earth, fears encasing his thoughts like the ocean lining the shores. And of course, Marcus was the sun, lighting him up in gold and proving to Jesse that if he ever left, then the earth couldn’t last much longer without him.

Jesse nipped at Marcus’ bottom lip, enjoying the moan that spilled out, as a gentle hand cupped the dancer’s neck to tilt his lips toward him. It felt so intimate and out of place compared to the way their hips were rolling against one another, desperate for friction as the tension mounted to boiling point.

Rashford hit one hand blindly towards the bedside table, knocking over an empty bottle of Smart water before grabbing the bottle of lube left on it from Jesse’s morning wank. It was a move that seemed oddly fast, but fuck it, they had wasted enough time and if Jesse was going to come at the hands of the object of his increasingly growing affections then who was he to question where it was going?

It was the lube Jesse usually used on his time alone, when he’d slick up his fist and think of faceless men hovering over him just like this, just like how Marcus was now.

Perhaps they hadn’t been faceless after all.

 Rashford pulled back shifting between Lingard's legs and fuck, he could do absolutely anything now and Jesse would agree to it. Most likely beg for it. The apartment was hauntingly quiet, just the faint ticking of the clock across the room and the distant hum of late-night traffic from the streets below but all Jesse could hear was Rashford's ragged breathing. He was looking at Jesse with the lustful look the dancer was so used to, but the anxiety that thrummed through him felt oddly out of.

 And for the first time in a long time, he was nervous under the gaze.

 “Have you tried this before, Jess? I’ve done this with a few of my girlfriends, like but not-” Marcus asked uncapping the lube and spreading the substance across one finger. Jesse followed a shiny droplet that dripped down the inside of his pointer finger and growled, tongue thick in his mouth and cock harder than it had ever been in his life. He shook his head, scared his thighs were trembling as Marcus came closer. He seemed unsure even as he pressed a gentle prod against the puckered muscle of Jesse's entrance. There was an air of silence that transpired between them, that felt an awful lot like Jesse hadn’t made things clear.

 Lingard’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Marcus’ wrist who let his wide-eyed gaze meet his friend’s.

 “I haven’t just not had sex with blokes, Rash.” He swallowed as his mate was looking at him with a concerned look that instantly had Jesse’s tension sapping slightly. “I’ve never had sex with anyone.”

 The admission held a silence between them for a few moments as Marcus looked from his lubricated finger then to Jesse’s body and back again before meeting his eye once more.

 “Ever?” Rashford asked, voice quiet. “But you said-“

 “I said whatever I needed to say to get people off my back.” Jesse was timid, hand still holding at Marcus’ wrist whose pulse was as erratic as the dancer’s.

 “We can just wank or something if you want?” Marcus shrugged, and Jesse couldn’t help but smile at that, shaking his head and swallowing.

 “I want you so bad Marcus.” Jesse replied and meant it. “I want to feel you in me, just not… all the way just now?” Marcus seemed to understand, nodding softly before he uncoiled Jesse’s grip from his wrist, dropping a kiss to the hammering pulse point there before encouraging his friend to lie back, dropping another kiss to his hip.

“Trust me, ok Jess? I want to do this right for you. The way you deserve it. So, we won’t go all the way. Not tonight.” Jesse let his eyes flutter shut, felt like there was no one else in the world he could imagine letting take this from him. To experience this with him.

  _Not tonight_ was a promise and Jesse felt his body ease by that alone.

 “I’ll always trust you.” It should have been scary how much he meant that. Marcus’ expression softened, the look in his eyes permitting an adoration that Jesse was used to from the man. But it was weighted now, meant something more.

 “You mean to tell me I’ve been jealous of made up girls over the years.” Marcus said letting his wet finger ghost along Jesse’s thigh, his legs still spread, and his eyes fixated on his friend.

 “Jealous?” Jesse asked, voice raspy as his cock throbbed with every soft, teasing touch.

 “I never did like the idea of you being with someone.” Marcus admitted, dropping a delicate kiss on Jesse’s inner thigh. “I’m glad this is me, you know?”

 “Same.” Jesse smiled.

 He relaxed as much as possible as he lay back, muscles unclenching. He waited a few moments before Marcus continued, Lingard gasping at the cold touch against his hole and fuck. He was terrified, like was it going to hurt? Was it going to be messy or gross? Is it the way guys usually did it or was there some kind of step they'd missed out or something?

 His thoughts were interrupted by the tip of Rashford's finger pressing into him. Jesse sucked in a breath and Marcus moaned as the ring of muscle contracted around him. It burnt, an unfamiliar burn that felt like heat itself was stretching him wide. Jesse planted his feet more into the bed trying to still himself as Marcus kept going, one hand still on his friend’s hip moving in soothing circles across his shimmering skin.

 Marcus’ eyes were so wide, staring down as he watched his finger disappear inside the boy beneath him. His other hand moving to stroke down the inside of Jesse’s thigh with a mesmerizing distracting rhythm.

 “Gonna go all the way, alright?” Marcus warned, and Jesse nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as the burn intensified and fuck. He could feel Rashford press up to his knuckle and then he wiggled his finger around inside him, tentatively.

 Testing.

 Jesse groaned cock bouncing against his stomach. Marcus chuckled, enjoying the flush that set his friend’s skin in a glow as Jesse adjusted to the feeling inside him. He pulled out a little before pushing down and a couple thrusts later Jesse was rocking his hips back, needy little whimpers spewing from his lips and wow. Fuck thirsty he was full blown hungry for more. The burn wasn't hot enough, the stretch wasn't wide enough, he needed to feel more, to have more. It was addictive, and he suddenly knew exactly why people did this. He wanted Marcus to give him everything he could, to have him not walk straight for days, to ruin him entirely.

 “Another one, put another one in.” He demanded, looking down and watching Marcus growl. He used the hand that was palming his own cock to reach over and grab the lube discarded on the side of the bed. He squirted more onto his other finger and the cold liquid dribbled down Jesse's thigh and wow that shiver felt good, against the contrast of the full burn inside him.

 The cold feeling was back, stretching, stretching, stretching until holy-fucking-shit-oh-sweet-god-loving-Jesus Marcus had two fingers in him and was moving in with a slow steady pace that was driving him wild, that was sending him insane.

 Jesse reached up, fingers coiling around the metal of the headboard as he pushed back on the fingers inside him, hips rolling similarly to the way he moved on stage and judging by the guttural moan from his friend, he noticed the movement. Marcus tugging and jerking his dry fist over the already slick flesh of his hard length. His other hand was fucking in and out of Jesse. It was making obscene noises, wet and messy sounds and Jesse's eyes were watering with the intensity, toes curling and cock leaking over his hip bone.

 And then Rashford's fingers twisted inside him.

 Jesse cried out, shout ringing off the walls and body bouncing down on Rashy's hand desperately seeking out the feeling that sent stars behind his eyes and his orgasm into its beginning stages, curling thick and sweet like honey deep inside him.

 Marcus was rapidly fucking his fist now, pummelling his fingers inside Jesse with a scrunched-up face of concentration. God his cock was big, bigger and thicker than Jesse’s and he groaned out a muffled mantra of pleas at the thought of Marcus’ filling him within splitting capacity inside him.

 “Jess, you're taking my fingers so fucking well.”

 Lingard was whimpering, biting his fist and using the other one to work over his dick. That spot again and again and again. It felt fucking criminal, he wondered why he hadn’t been doing this sort of thing before now. Why he hadn’t used his own fingers when the bundle of nerves Marcus was repeatedly fucking against felt like heaven or better. And then his orgasm burst out of him, painting his stomach, chest and catching his fucking chin.

 He was actually crying out, shuddering as his bones tingled, Marcus groaning, and spurting come over Jesse's spent cock. He was still feeling the wave, riding it out as the fingers slowed down inside of him. And fuck he might have even blacked out for a bit then because when he came to, Marcus was draped over him his lubed up hand fisting the duvet to his side.

 Their breathing was in-sync, chaotic and stilted.

 “Christ, Rashy.” Jesse whispered, hands dropping down on the back of Marcus’ neck and guiding him into a kiss that was electric from the get go. They rolled over so that Jesse was pressed against Marcus, fingers dancing over the hard muscle of his stomach.

 “That was fit.” Marcus smirked as they broke apart chests heaving, and lips swollen. They were debauched, broken and blissfully fucked out and Jesse fell beside him, hooking an arm over him and pressing their heated skin together. The air about them was stifling and Jesse couldn’t even be arsed to reach over for the air-con remote, because he didn’t want to disturb the feeling of Marcus’ sated and tired body pressed against him.

 "My arse stings now though, Jesus.” Jesse pouted, and Marcus smirked.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

 “Don't even talk like that.” Jesse chastised as Marcus’ eyes sparkled with something that made Jesse’s come covered dick bounce a little. Fuck, he couldn’t mean it, could he? “Rashy. Seriously.”

 “Let me just have one lick. I tried it with my ex Shauna, and it wasn’t that bad you know.” His friend said, planting a kiss to Jesse's cheek who watched him move to in-between his thighs. He hooked his legs over his shoulders and it was rather like how Jesse would imagine Rashford would situate himself when he was going down on a girl. His heart was thundering as Marcus gazed at his fucked out, hole like it was truly fascinating, eyes blown and mouth falling open a little. “Blueberry lube is going to come in use.” He waggled his eyebrows obscenely and Jesse didn't even have time to roll his eyes as he felt the softest kitten lick of all fucking time soothing against his raw entrance. His fingers thread through Marcus’ hair who to his credit moaned into him, hands pressing bruises to the tops of Jesse's thighs, tongue lathering up his hole.

 “God you taste good, babe.” He moaned the words out like they were drenched in sin and Jesse thought they truly were, fuck where had this feeling been his entire life.

  _Babe_ there it was, the compliment coupled with the pet name making Jesse's cock stir back to life and he let a hand wrap around the sensitive length. Rashford's come felt good slicking up his dick and soon enough he was rubbing it over the head and whimpering as Rashy's tongue thrust into him.

It was a sensory overload, one that left him standing on the brink of coming again. His body still tingled with the aftermath of his last orgasm and yet here he was chanting Rashford's name like a prayer as he licked and stuck his tongue into him like it was going out of fashion.

 Jesse hoped it never would.

 “Gonna come, gonna come again fuck, Rashy!” Jesse moaned, and Marcus pulled his tongue out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as his finger was back and toying with the sensitive rim of Jesse's arse. Lingard cried out, pumping his cock once and then twice before coming again.

 It was a feeble amount, piteous even but it left him utterly spent and completely boneless. Rashford was planting kisses up his body, over his trembling thighs, across his raised hipbones and winding all the way up his naked body before kissing his cheek and dropping down next to him.

 “You’re physically not allowed to do anythin’ else now.” Jesse stated, Marcus laughing as he pulled the faux fur blanket over them and wow that was warm and comfortable and the need to never move again increased by 400%.

 “I’ll give us an hour or so.” Marcus murmured with a feeble shrug, kissing Jesse's lips once, twice, three times until Lingard captured him and tongued his mouth.

“Do you reckon it’s gonna be awkward now we’ve done that?” Marcus asked tentatively once they pulled away, fingers stroking over Jesse’s hair who sighed, cheek pressed against his friend’s bare chest, listening to his heart beat through sex-slick skin. It should have scared Jesse how badly he wanted to stay lying there for the rest of his life, ear pressed against his best friend, just hearing the vibrations of the heart he wanted to call his own.

“Nah I’ve slept with your Mum bare and it’s never been awkward at your house.” He joked, just so he could indulge in the feeling of Marcus’ laughter rumbling through his body.

“ _Nah_! you can’t make that joke anymore man, I’m sayin’ that’s officially off limits now!” Marcus cackled, digging his fingers into Jesse’s ribs who curled up, the pair scuffling before settling back together with the taller boy lying half on top of the dancer. Lingard let his fingers flutter against Marcus’ cheek.

“When did you know that you felt differently about me?” He asked in a whisper, biting his lip in an effort not to let his smile split his face in two.

“Not gonna lie, I felt like there’s been something between us for a few years. Like I thought I was going crazy to be honest!” Rashford laughed at himself, looking at his fingers as they tracked lines down his friend’s face. Being the centre of Marcus’ attention always felt like a self-indulgent, fleeting moment. But Jesse was bathing in that light now, allowing himself the pure unadulterated joy that came with soaking it up. “Thought it was a puberty thing or somethin’ that I’d get over. But I never did. Figured I’d rather be in your life and lying to myself than risk losing you. I never could be too sure what you were thinkin’”

“I know that feelin’ well.” _So. Many. Wasted. Years._

“But I realised it proper when you were dancin’ you know.” Marcus ducked his head, cheeks blushing, and it was several kinds of adorable.

“Fuck off!” Jesse cackled, letting his fingers dance down the shifting of Rashford’s shoulder blades that moved underneath his smooth skin.

“I’m being serious, it was the first time I’d seen you in a light like that ennit. And then I thought, you were dancin’ for men as well so there was that sense of this could happen if I wanted it to kinda thing.”

“And you weren’t put off by the underwear thing?” Jesse cringed when he asked, but he had to know, after all he’d been kitted out in the skimpiest pair he owned during their entire confrontation!

“Not gonna lie Jess, you looked fuckin’ peng in lacy pants.” Marcus said, dropping a kiss on his friend’s collarbone who arched into the feeling as it was followed instantly by the long drawn out heat of a lick.

“Reckon I should store that information away for a later date.” He smirked at the appreciative hum from his mate.

“Mm, I like that idea lot.” Marcus was looking back at him again, cupping his face gently which was a movement that had somehow become synonymous with Marcus even before their intimacy was established. Perhaps they had always been more intimate than Jesse even realised. “I’m sorry I walked away when you told me you were gay. That was fuckin’ peak. I should have been there for you when you needed me.” His eyes were shining with his apology.

“I understand, I _did_ lie to you. You were right to be mad.”

“I left because I needed to process it all like, I kept telling myself that you were fuckin’ with me and you didn’t actually fancy me because I’d spent so long thinkin’ it would never happen.” Marcus’ words were featherlight and all of a sudden, the whole moment shifted. The traffic from the window outside was still bustling by, London never sleeping, and yet Jesse and Marcus were on an entirely different plain of existence.

“Imagine how much sooner this could have happened if we weren’t so fuckin’ stupid!”

“But it happened.” Marcus smiled.

“It’s weird though cos I dunno what to do next.” Lingard whispered, and Marcus’ brow furrowed momentarily.

“What do you mean?”

“Cos ain’t it when someone sleeps with someone they tend to ask them out on a date to get to know them better? But I already know everything about you, so like what now?”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to bite the bullet big man!” Marcus said confidently, lying back with a hand behind his head as he let out a long sigh that had Jesse rolling his eyes because that was so fucking Rashford, it hurt.

“Hold on, I made the first move so why do I have to bite the bullet?” Jesse sat up, pointing inwardly as Marcus just smiled smugly at him with a casual shrug from his relaxed position. The blanket was draped over his hips, hanging over him and staging him like a Bernini sculpture.

“Cos you led me astray! I was an innocent little straight boy until you came along.”

“We met in year 7.” Jesse laughed, Marcus holding up a finger to silence his friend.

“I was innocent! You led me astray and you know it!”

“Fine. Fine.” Jesse sighed, throwing a leg over the man who moved his hands to Lingard’s thighs smiling up at him. Jesse couldn’t even think of how-to fucking word it after so long of imagining the same scenario.

Would you date me for real?

Want to give this a go?

Fancy fucking me and all things in between for the foreseeable future?

 “Marcus _Dickhead_ Rashford-”

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend, Jess?” Marcus interjected quickly, Jesse’s brow furrowed as he laughed, Marcus’ cackle the loudest. The taller man pushed up, the pair falling back on the bed together, arms encircling, and Jesse thought he was going to burst with happiness.

“ _Boyfriend_ , you know.” Now _that_ felt like a dream.

“Is that a yeah or nah cos I don’t fuck all my mates you know.”

“And you’re defo not allowed to attempt that now!” Jesse said, shifting closer to the man in his arms and basking in the warmth that settled between them.

“So, is that yes? Is Jesse Lingard, the idiot who got sent out of French for launching a dictionary at Josh Barber, now my boyfriend?” Marcus said quietly.

“He’d be a fuckin’ dickhead not to be.”

“I agree.” Marcus said, letting their lips find one another again and Jesse really didn’t realise how quickly his life could fall into place, but it seemed that everything did.

Perhaps the centre of his universe was a little closer to home than he realised.

Maybe, just maybe, it had been in another person all along.

 


	20. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been so absent, I've been super busy with Uni but I assure you this story is very much still active! So if you're still here thanks so much, and if you're new I hope you enjoy as well!

John adjusted his tie in the mirror, tugging at the waistcoat he had donned and wondering why he was so damn uncomfortable just for going for a meal with his friends.  He tried not to think too much about why it felt strange grouping Kyle in with the term “friends”. But hey, that’s what they were. John had taken Mo up on his offer to join him and his new beau Dejan for drinks after their first date which went really well if Mo’s gushing to Neymar and Leo was anything to go by the next day.

John’s mind had admittedly been elsewhere for a while now. His skin felt as though it still burnt from where Kyle’s lips had brushed against him as they sat opposite one another at the shitty bar they’d gone to and it was enough to have him second guessing everything he thought he knew of himself. It was such a strange feeling, to be so helpless against something that seemed to be transpiring between them, regardless of if John had a choice or not.

Originally Emily was invited to Mo’s drinks, but she already had plans and well Kyle felt like the next logical option.

For some reason.

“You’re lookin’ awful swanky over there!” Emily smirked at him through the mirror of her dresser, dainty hands expertly sectioning off her blonde hair into strands ready to curl. John grinned, looking down at himself and then back at his reflection before meeting her gaze through it.

“No doubt you will too.” He said and meant. She was a delightfully pretty girl, always had been. She was petite and polite and had a smile that could turn people’s knees weak just from the sight of it. She always smelled like flowers and always promoted positive energy and she really was a joy to be around.

Which is probably why John felt sick to his stomach as his mind tended not to be fully there whenever he and Emily spent time together.

“I’m going out for Gabby’s 30th at some shitty 3-jaggerbombs for-a-fiver kinda place! Not exactly the pinnacle of fancy!” She moaned, John nodding along. Gabby was the obnoxious semi-insta famous girl she worked with and John had only met her a handful of times but definitely didn’t like her.

“There will be no disrespecting of the club _Popworld_ in this household, that place is an institution of culture!” John joked, turning to face her as she beckoned him over with a flick of her slim wrist. He followed, crouching down beside her and trying his best not to look away from her eyes. Too scared she’d look and see too much or notice he could barely meet her gaze and end up seeing regardless.

But still, he stayed, and she smiled down at him as though he deserved it.

“Well I met you there, so it can’t be all that bad.” Her fingers ran through his hair, probably adjusting it from where it had fallen, and he swallowed thickly trying not to compare the motion to the way Kyle would do the same thing mid-conversation at university.

“See, the place has its perks!” He rose from his feet, turning his back on her and grabbing his phone and wallet just to avoid giving everything and nothing away.

“Still, it’s not exactly some fancy French champagne bar is it?”

“Listen, I’m probably going to have the worst time ever and when I do I’ll come back, and we can binge watch something on Netflix.” He approached her once more, his pockets full and his phone alerting him that his Uber was outside.

“Sounds divine.” Emily smirked, dropping a kiss onto his lips, before swiping her thumb across the gloss left in her wake. “Have fun, Johnny boy.”

“You too.” He left then, not turning back, not calling out I love you. He just grabbed his keys and went down the stairs, trying to focus his breathing and explicitly ignoring his reflection in the hallway mirror as he went out the front door.

He didn’t really recognize the man he saw there anyway.

*

The taxi pulled up outside the restaurant and John was entranced by the sight of it. Large stone pillars lining the exterior like it should have been in an exotic foreign city. He stepped out, thanking the driver and straightening his jacket because a familiar figure was loitering up the stone stairs that elevated the building from the main road.

John’s stomach did an awkward swoop as the man turned to face him. Kyle was looking at him with a beaming smile. It was infectious, John’s grin widening as he took in Kyle’s presence. He expected Kyle’s suit, Kyle had snapchatted him a series of images of him getting ready, all with increasingly hilarious commentary. He expected the smile that fixed him to the spot, but what he didn’t expect was the single rose Kyle all but brandished at him. John paused on the step below the man, taking in the beautiful deep red of the flower and then the older man who was blushing even if the street lamps around them painted him in a warm glow.

“Too cheesy?” Kyle joked, and John tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he reached out. He touched the petals like they were made of glass, his stomach doing that annoying girly twisting thing that he really needed to get a grip of and he rolled his eyes, grabbing the stem and smelling it theatrically.

Kyle’s laugh in response did not help the incessant butterflies that seemed hellbent on making John lose all his common sense.

“It set the tone for the evening.” John said, snapping the stem and watching as Kyle stared at him with a mocking astonished expression, which soon melted into a lip biting grin as John tucked the newly shortened rose into the breast pocket on his suit jacket.

“I’ll cancel the horse and cart, shall I?” Kyle retorted John just rolling his eyes and straightening his jacket. Kyle gave him another once over and Stone just lifted his arm, gesturing up the staircase.

“You ready?”

“Is it weird that I’m excited? I love meeting new people.”

“Stop being adorable, it doesn’t suit you.” John chastised with a grin, body warming at the way Kyle canted his head. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes were just ghosting across John’s expression like he was committing it to memory and then the moment was broken.

Kyle swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, hand rubbing over the back of his neck as he sighed.

“Come on then Stripper Stones, I wanna fraternize with Tories and bankers. Don’t get to live the life of luxury often. Let’s go paint the town red.” And as John took another moment to look at the flower in his pocket, the town was most certainly already painted rose red.

The restaurant was beautiful, white traditional arches having new life breathed into them from the avant-garde paintings hung across the walls, mirrored pillars throughout the dining area creating an illusion of space and light that the dimly lit chandeliers above could not. Judging by the other patrons there, John felt as though he had most certainly made the right call going for a full suit.

Kyle’s hand was placed on John’s lower back and he preened under the feeling of it, perhaps playing too much into the role of Kyle’s plus one in his head. The waiter lead them over to Mo who rose to his feet, smile at full beam as he thanked the server before offering the seats in front of him to John and Kyle.

“John, you look exceptional!” He said by greeting, leaning across the table to hold at his friend’s extended hand, the taller man winking at him with a grin. He soon averted his attention to Kyle and his expression or enthusiasm didn’t falter. “Hello there, nice to meet you. I’m Mo.”

“Pleasure is all mine, I’m Kyle. John’s mate.”

“Any mate of John’s is a mate of mine!” Mo was probably the most welcoming man John had ever met in his life, so he instantly felt himself relax as Salah’s warm grin was reflected in Kyle’s expression.

“So how do you too know one another?” Kyle asked as a formality as they all sat down, the waiter having left to bring more alcohol, at Mo's suggestion. John smirked at that, it wasn't often the Egyptian let nerves effect him.

“Mo strips with me at our club.” John said as he got himself comfortable in his seat.

“Judging by the look of you two it’s a club I’ll have to swing by at some point.”

“We would be glad to have you on our guest list, Kyle!” Salah said with his trademark grin, reaching for his freshly poured drink. “Dejan knows, by the way.” Mo added as an afterthought, waving a dismissive hand at John who didn’t know why he was so surprised at that. Maybe because the restaurant had been Dejan’s choice and it didn’t seem like the sort of place a man who could afford such luxury would take a stripper to on a date and not through having the stripper as his escort. John just blinked for a few moments as he watched Mo’s relaxed stance, sipping from his champagne flute with a casual shrug.

“And he took it well?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” He didn’t expect Kyle to interject at that, the two dancers looking at the man who was just making himself comfortable before pouting with a slight shrug. “It’s a profession no different from mine and no doubt his. You do what you do, you’re good at it and you get money in return.”

“I like him.” Mo winked as he gestured towards Kyle, and John really needed to start getting used to the way his stomach kept swooping because it seeemd to be a fucking re-occurrence.

It didn’t take long until three became four, Mo’s eyes falling just behind John mid-conversation and his mouth falling open into half-grin of surprise as the waiter bought the final dinner guest to the table.

Dejan was an exceptionally good-looking man. He was tall and lean, and he bared his teeth in a charming smile that had John returning it on instinct alone as they shook hands across the table. John took his seat again, smoothing down his shirt and watching as Kyle did the same from his greeting to Dejan. The Croatian man’s gaze was once more on Mo as they took their seats opposite Kyle and John, the pair lost in a conversation catching up on one another’s days and Dejan running a hand down Mo’s arm and complimenting the fit of his shirt.

“You look good too by the way, just in case you thought I wasn't being a gentleman.” Kyle said quietly, leaning in and stealing away John’s attention who felt his stomach flare at the compliment.

“Nice of you to _finally_ notice.” He grinned, voice low as Kyle snorted out a laugh. “As it goes, you look fuckin' terrific in white.” John added, not meeting Kyle’s eye as he ran a finger over the base of his glass. He knew Kyle’s gaze was following the movement, so he took his time. He let the tip of his fingers ghost along the slim stem of the glass before falling back down to the base. He let his eyes meet Kyle’s then and couldn’t help the smug smile at being able to affect the older man so easily.

Kyle rolled his eyes settling back in his seat.

“I’m not going to rise to your games, Stones. No matter how much everything inside me is telling me to.” He joked, and John canted his head back with a playful pout.

“Where’s the fun in that?” It was safe. If he just kept the humorous tone to his voice, then no one would be able to see through the veil and see his intentions for what they were. Fuck, John barely knew what they were. But he knew they weren’t as cookie cutter innocent as he was masquerading them as.

“I like you on champagne Stones, you get well flirty.” Kyle replied, his tone just as light as John’s but with a subtle edge that made the dancer’s tongue swipe along his bottom lip in a dare to make Walker follow its movement as he did with the glass.

Kyle again, didn’t disappoint.

“Waiter. Another bottle of your most expensive champagne please.” John said in response.

“Show off.” Kyle muttered with a smirk, making to elbow John but it was somehow as soft as a caress and John tried to keep his focus on Dejan who began initiating conversation with the table at large. But how could he when Kyle’s arm was still pressed against his?

*

“So, Kyle, how did you meet John?” Dejan asked, brandishing his fork around in a flourish as he cut at his seared duck.

“Walked into my first University session late and this strapping young lad was giving the class all the _boring_ details of his life story and I was completely enchanted, even if he was waffling!” Kyle said, sounding particularly more northern as he chewed at his steak, shirt sleeves rolled up.

“An introduction, really.” John said with a playful roll of his eyes, cutting off his smile by taking a sip from his glass when Kyle’s hand on his arm got too familiar and the tugging in his stomach sent the butterflies into a frenzy.

“See Mo, we must think of a romantic meeting like that! We can’t go around telling everyone we met on a dating app! It will not do!” Dejan had a way with words, he was a very eloquent man and John felt that he was quite used to being the raconteur among his peers because he seemed to have a fascinating amount of stories at his disposal. He recited poetry mid-conversation, he spoke of the art on the wall and compared it to the pieces he had at home. Dejan was a hopeless romantic in all aspects of his being and John envied the beauty he managed to see in the most mundane of things.

“Let’s see, shall we… Ah! We met at the Joy of Life fountain! I saw you across the spraying water and was spell-bound!” Dejan spoke, Mo looking up at him and blushing, perhaps too distracted by the charm and poetics of the man in front of him to question why the guy would presume Kyle and John were indeed a couple.

Kyle didn’t say anything either, didn’t object simply took another sip from his glass before returning to his meal.

“I think meeting on an app _is_ romantic.” That statement from Kyle surprised John and the rest of the table if Mo and Dejan’s momentary silence was anything to go by.

“How so?” Mo inquired and Kyle put his knife and fork down, shifting in his seat and looking to the men before him.

“Well, I may think this because I’m in IT and if I don’t romanticise it then I’d most certainly kill myself at my desk, but-“ His words were cut off by the two across the table laughing appreciatively but John just couldn’t bring himself to grin, far too enamoured by the potential in the rest of Kyle’s words as he waited with what felt like baited breath. “The internet is a world that runs parallel to ours, it houses the same inhabitants, it has the world able to be viewed at any moment at any place. If anything, the online realm is far bigger than this one and harbours more hope too. You met Mo in that world! Connected with each other despite the thousand others at your disposal, just a swipe away! There were no awkward unassuming moment of doubt because you matched through desire alone. A true example of following your heart.” Kyle looked down, pausing as though he had spoken out of place. When no one spoke, he reached for his glass, putting on a charming smile. “I think your meeting is perhaps as romantic as they come in this century.”

“Well said, Kyle.” Mo smiled raising his glass and sipping from it. Dejan was no longer looking at Kyle, his eyes were back on Salah smiling this sweet smile that looked like all his blessings had come at once. Which is probably how he would describe the look on John’s face as he stared at Kyle, the older man’s words playing on a loop in his head and making his stupid heart miss beat after beat.

“I didn’t realise you were such a romantic.”

“I have my moments.” He said with a wink, flicking at the flower still in John’s blazer pocket, swung on the chair, the rose head sitting between them.

The night stretched on and champagne really did have a terrible effect on John. He only noticed said effect when he was throwing his head back in a thunderous cackle, Dejan’s hand smacking the table and punctuating his story as the four of them responded with loud laughter. The room felt like it was swaying, and John couldn’t remember the last time he was so effortlessly happy. God, champagne was amazing!

The men had deteriorated into a table of empty glasses, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to elbows. Dejan was relaxed back in his seat, one hand holding at his champagne flute, the other wrapped around Mo’s chair who was leaning against the taller man with the most innocent looking drunken flush John had ever witnessed on an adult.

John was wrapped up in an illusion, one that he was playing dangerously close to the fire in as he let his fingers drift along Kyle’s thigh under the table. He had started that bullshit a glass or so ago. Kyle had tensed at first but the more the conversation between the four of them transpired, the more confidence accompanied every sip of champagne and eventually Kyle’s own fingers were dancing lines across John’s bare wrist in response. 

Out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind.

Because it was all John could think of, the way with every stroke along his veins, goose-bumps rose to the surface of his skin like his body was crying out for the other man’s touch.

It was endlessly exciting and dizzyingly dangerous.

“So, the time of the night has come where I must ask the personal questions.” Dejan said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“I’m immediately interested.”

“John, what is Mo like as a performer?” John gaped for a moment, unsure of exactly what to say but Mo was just looking at him with a smile on his face as wide as usual and maybe the alcohol was making them all a little bit confident because John leaned back in his seat, throwing an arm around the back of Kyle’s chair that no one seemed to pay attention to.

Bar of course Kyle who threw a raised eyebrow John’s way but settled against the arm regardless.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, Dej. But I’ll give you a spoiler. He’s called the Egyptian king for a reason.”

“Egyptian king is it?” Dejan asked, nose bucking against Mo’s jaw who all but fucking melted. “And what does the Egyptian King, do?”

“Many, many things!” John chuckled, Dejan’s expression one of child-like wonder.

“Many? This will not do! I know, none of these things! And I insist on knowing them all!” He said in mock disdain, looking back to the curly-haired man who was letting out the most delightful giggle.

“You’re telling me, I don’t know half of what John gets up to in that secret little club of yours.” Kyle said then. “Tell me Mo, what does John bring to the table.” The look he fixed John with was nothing short of criminal and John probably was drunk because his cock seemed to have woken up by the darkness of Kyle’s eyes alone.

“John is the pretty boy, drives the men wild!” Mo cackled, John not even able to hide his blush as he let his eyes fall back to Kyle. Kyle wasn’t laughing, and John’s breath stuttered from him because Kyle was looking at him the same way he had been the night they were playing pool. Where the tension felt like it would suffocate them, like a poisonous gas saturating the air between them and the only antidote being getting underneath one another’s skin.

“He’s an exceptionally pretty boy, isn't he?” Kyle’s voice was dark as he let his fingers reach out and stroke stray hair from John’s face, the caress falling to behind his ear and down his neck and before John could let the feeling wash over him it was gone.

He let his hand squeeze at Kyle’s thigh, just to remind him it was still there. That John was still there. He heard the briefest of noises emit from the older man and he openly watched him, far too inebriated to be coy about it now and Kyle must have been thinking the same thing as he twisted toward him, leaning in and sparing just a few inches between them.

John was staring at the way the light was dancing off the champagne still wetting Kyle’s mouth, his lips glossy and plump and he sucked in a breath as anticipation as the older man drifted closer.

But his lips just went to John’s ear and Stones allowed his grip on Kyle’s thigh to loosen.

“Perhaps we should leave them to it, aye?” Kyle giggled in a conspiratorial whisper, dropping his head onto John’s shoulder who laughed out in relief of the tension subsiding. He took the get-out-of-jail-free card Kyle was throwing him and for the first time in what felt like hours pulled his hand away from his friend.

He was nodding as he threw some money down on the table, the pair sliding out their seats as though not to disturb the other couple. Not that Mo or Dejan noticed, they were entirely wrapped up in whatever it was they were doing. John wasn’t exactly sure, but it involved Mo whispering conspiratorially into Dej’s ear, whose eyebrows had risen into his hairline and his cheeks had flushed the colour of the flower in John’s pocket.

“What do you think of this Lovren bloke then?” Kyle asked, as the pair made their way out towards the exit, pulling their jackets on as they went.

“He’s funny. He seems genuine, totally smitten of course!” John laughed, thanking the waiter as they left the building, the night-time air hitting them like a slap in the face. They walked towards the stairs, looking out at the scene ahead of them. The traffic was drifting now, lights from windows and streetlamps illuminating the streets as people walked by wrapped up in their own lives.

“Makes you sick, doesn’t it!” Kyle’s face was screwed up in mocking of the happy couple, John swatting at him as they took a seat side by side. John rummaged in his inside pocket, lighting the cigarette he found there and inhaling a thick plume of smoke.

They remained in silence as they settled into the atmosphere.

God why were the streets spinning?

The night was a beautiful one, clear skies and the passing of traffic and people allowing John to release a blissful sigh that turned into a little giggle courtesy of the champagne still coating his bones in a warm glow. He fucking loved London, sure he missed home, but he was pretty content with having set up his life into a world as chaotic and beautiful as the capital.

The stone steps were cold, John letting out a little shiver that caught Kyle’s attention. Then another silence washed over them.

“Gotta admit, that was the most expensive date I’ve ever been on.” Kyle joked, throwing back to the way Dejan had spent the entire night mistakenly referring to them as a couple, Mo seemingly none the wiser as he spent the entire night completely enchanted regardless. “And that includes the time I paid for me _and_ my ex at mini-golf!” John cackled, turning towards the man beside him with a raised eyebrow.

“How many holes?”

“12, but I got him a Tango Ice Blast on the way out too, because I’m a charmer like that.” Kyle took the cigarette from John then, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. Stone followed the movement, watching how his mouth shifted and its kind of made him want to bite his lip. He shook his head, Kyle looking at him with a wide grin.

“I’m mortally offended that I only got a bottle of Dom Perignon.”

“The deal was pretty much sealed after the Tango Ice Blast, I reckon.” Kyle shrugged passing back the cigarette and letting the smoke blow across John’s face. Stone just blinked, brow furrowed, and expression determined.

“What came after that then?” His voice was quiet, and Kyle blinked for a few moments. He swallowed and looked to the ground as he spoke.

“Well I bid him goodnight, with a good night kiss.”

That fucking silence again, torturing John, giving him too much time to think. Too much time to consider the man next to him and the way that heat and desire was bouncing between them like a fucking pinball that had John desperate to keep playing.

“So, if mini-golf and tango Ice blasts got him a good night kiss, what would champagne and _Berlingots_ get me?”

Silence. But the Kyle did that snort of laughter he tended to do before looking back at the dancer and releasing a breath as though he had been holding it for a century.

“You won’t get more simply because you flashed more cash, Stones.” Kyle’s voice was low thick and heavy with alcohol and John felt all the breath in his lungs fall out his mouth as the older man leaned in, lips pressing the most delicate press of a barely-there kiss to his cheek. John’s eyes fluttered shut, the grip on the cigarette loosening as it fell on the step between his feet. “You’ll get more-” Kyle continued, John feeling him shift and he couldn’t stop the ripple of a gasp from his mouth as he felt a kiss on the other cheek. “Because you’re _you_.”

“And what exactly does _being me_ get me?” John’s voice didn’t sound like his own. It was quiet, it was insecure. It was hopeful. Desperate. Desperate for the flicker of the candle that Kyle could so easily blow out or let fall to the ground and allow the flames to consume and ravish them.

“Listen. I’m a northern bloke, growing too old and too lonely in London. I’m sat on the poshest steps I’ve ever bloody seen after having the most exquisite meal and the most expensive drinks with the most impressive people.” Kyle said with a huff of a laugh and all John could do was stare at him. “If nothing comes of this night then whatever! But I couldn’t just let an evening like this end without at least _tasting_ the possibility of _what-if_.”

 _What-if_!

That’s exactly what they had been from the very first day, a series of _what-if_ daydreams and moments that they allowed themselves to get swept up in despite their better judgments.

 _What-if_ was such a beautiful thought. Such a hopeful one.

Kyle’s hands were feather-light on John’s neck and the younger man was staring into Hazel eyes and the reflection he saw was himself, cheeks ruddy and lips parting. He wanted so bad and the twist in his gut had him realising soon enough that the tug of desperation was magnetic, and its counterpart was in Kyle.

That’s the only logical reasoning for why John shuffled in-between Kyle’s legs, the pair tangled on those fancy stone steps of the lavish restaurant, the street lights around them twinkling like the starlight above that the city swallowed up.

The feeling he felt, fingers fisting into the front of Kyle’s shirt, was too good too last and perhaps he was too young to care of the consequences. He leaned forwards, Kyle frozen as his thumbs etched barely-there lines across his cheekbones. John’s nose bucked against the older man’s, reveling in the breath that rolled against his lips. That breath smelt of alcohol, after-dinner mints and the cheap roll-up the pair had been passing between them for the last ten minutes and John only imagined how Kyle would taste.

The thought was taken from him because before he could second-guess himself, he gave into the longing, the yearning that had followed him around like a black cloud and he pressed a kiss to Kyle’s mouth. A part of him wanted it to be awful, for him to pull back and say it was terrible, so he could go back to his house and his girlfriend and move passed the minor blip in his life.

But this life could be his last. He wasn’t a believer in anything existential, didn’t believe in God, but couldn’t exactly rule out the possibility of another life waiting for him upon death and he didn’t want this life to be the one where he turned away from the press of these lips regardless of what was waiting for him at the end of it all.

Kyle’s body melted, head tilting and mouth moving slow and deliberate against John’s like he was savouring the taste as much as the younger man was, as if he were a mind-reader. John’s grip was white-knuckle tight in Kyle’s shirt as he brought him even closer, the pair giving into the motions and soon enough the kiss escalated into a flurry of moving hands, clashing tongues and racing hearts.

Time didn’t move, it was just the two of them on a different frequency to the rest of the world. John couldn’t remember feeling so high, expensive alcohol clouding his sanity. But it wasn’t the champagne, it was Kyle. Kyle fucking Walker saturating into his very bones and encouraging a moan from deep inside him that the older man simply swallowed down.

Kyle’s hand shifted across John’s lap and Stones felt his fingers wrap around Kyle’s wrist all but encouraging him to cup his hard cock. Kyle’s hand found him, and he pulled away from the kiss with a messy pop, a groan falling from his glistening mouth as he looked down at John’s crotch.

“Of course, you’re big.” He mumbled with a smirk, John grinning and leaning forwards, dropping a teasing kiss at the corner of the older man’s mouth before allowing himself the indulgence of peppering them down his neck. When he found Kyle’s pulse he was happy to discover it was as erratic as his own. He kissed that too, letting his teeth nibble and his lips suck and Kyle’s head fell back, hand rubbing slow ministrations at John’s hard cock. He knew Kyle could feel him twitching like the fucking Virgin he was sat there like, with his thighs spreading in craving for the friction that blessed him.

He ran his tongue across the bruise inked into Kyle’s skin like another one of his tattoos and he was soon enough back on that delicious mouth, Kyle’s teeth tugging at John’s bottom lip who rolled his hips up into the hand palming at his stiff cock through his tight trousers. They shifted again, and Kyle was crowding John against the stairs, the younger man’s hand finding Kyle’s arse and kneading the peachy flesh he found there.

It was dizzying, like the spinning of a ride. The world was a blur but the ecstasy he felt was enough to pull him in again and again to encourage more and more turning.

“Hey!”  A voice called out and the pair separated, lips shimmering and swollen. “My friends! The restaurant staff are thankful for our presence tonight, but they have warned they will phone the police if it gets any more indecent out here!” Dejan shouted, Mo hanging on his arm as the pair burst into drunken laughter, stumbling from the restaurant doors and tangling together in a series of whispers and playful kisses.

John just blinked at them in surprise, hands still fused to Kyle and it wasn’t until he felt his fingers being prized away that he even realised Kyle was standing now.

“Right. I should probably go.” Kyle was saying and that wasn’t right? John’s cock was still throbbing, the street was still swaying and they were supposed to be on the ride? Surely you’re not allowed to get off whilst it’s still spinning?

“Kyle-” John said, a panic flaring in his voice which died like a flower under snow at the cold expression of Kyle matched with a step away like John was repelling him.

Perhaps he was.

“I’ll message you. Thanks for tonight it was-” He looked like he wanted to say so much, and so suddenly John was back in his reality, like the initial pull away from the pool table to the sobering conversation in the beer garden. Except now, the impact had happened, and the boat was filling with water. “It was a nice _what-if_ ” He said it with a bowed head and John rose to his feet, watching as Kyle walked away, the lights of the traffic ahead glittering around him until he was just another person in the night time streets of London and John was just another man who had cheated on his girlfriend.

 


End file.
